


A Bastard's Fate

by DizzyDC



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Now For Something Completely Different, But I think you'll like her, Canon - Book, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, If a canon can even really be defined, Original Character-centric, Past Jon Snow/Ygritte, R Plus L Equals J, Robb Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-10-12 06:15:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17462150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyDC/pseuds/DizzyDC
Summary: Saved by the mercy of House Mormont, Lila (OC) is sent undercover to the Wall. There, she meets a dark and broody Lord Commander and learns a great deal about the past.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> This is the very first FanFic that I've ever written and I'm excited to share it with the world. :)
> 
> Since it's my first fic, some feedback would be greatly appreciated, but perhaps we could keep it constructive? 
> 
> This story is heavily centred on one of the OCs in particular, but there will be plenty of appearances from the characters we all know and love as well. Knowing that it diverges from canon, please keep in mind that things may not necessarily be the way we've come to know them (though I won't make it too "out there"). 
> 
> Of course, I do not own any characters or locations from A Song of Ice and Fire. I do own the Original Characters, however. :) 
> 
> Please let me know what you think; happy reading!

LILA

“You, Lila, have been charged with the death of Davis Snow of Deepwood Motte. Do you understand the charges against you?”

“Yes, milady,” Lila replied, barely audible. 

“Have you any witnesses to verify your defense, Lila?” 

“No, milady. I haven’t any,” Lila said quietly, eyes on the ground. 

“And no other evidence you wish to present?”

“No, milady.”

Maege Mormont sighed heavily, “In which case, I have no choice but to find you guilty of the crime of murder, punishable by death in the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.”

Lady Mormont approached the young woman, who was shivering involuntarily. A hush fell over the small crowd that had gathered nearby as Lady Mormont’s men formed an uneven circle around the accused and the man she was said to have killed. There were Mormont men and soldiers from a house Lila did not recognize, but it did not matter much; she was going to die anyway, no matter who they were. 

“However,” Lady Mormont spoke once more. “Out of respect for you and your own obvious victimhood in this matter, your sentencing and punishment shall be carried out in private. Men, arrest her and return her to Mormont Keep.” 

Lady Mormont turned to walk back to her horse as the men grabbed Lila on either side and dragged her along. The Keep wasn’t far, if Lila could remember correctly, but she would have preferred to just be killed right here and now. She could’ve done without the added humiliation. 

Truthfully, she wished she had simply let Davis kill her. It would have been easier, and it would be over already. But she had been taught to protect herself at all costs; living on Bear Island was not without its threats and dangers. 

She had been preparing the stage in the yard of the kitchen of the Inn, preparing to gut and split the latest delivery of fish that had arrived that morning, when she heard the door swing open and loud, stumbling footsteps drawing near. She looked up, startled, and saw Davis approaching, a flagon of ale in his hand, though by now more ale had lopped over the side of his mug than had been drunk. 

Davis was a bastard of Glover who made several lumber deliveries a year to Bear Island from the Wolfswood in Deepwood Motte. He frequented the Inn while he was here, and being a nameless bastard herself, Lila felt compelled to be kind to him; she knew the shame that came from being an illegitimate child. Davis, however, had proven to be a very questionable friend, indeed, and had taken to making gaudy and humiliating jokes about her as she served the wine and meals in the evenings. 

On this particular day, it was evident that Davis was thoroughly drunk as he began the walk from his room at the Inn to the docks to begin working. She had prayed to any Gods that would listen that he wouldn’t notice her as he stumbled out the backdoor of the Inn. Lila was used to the vulgarity and crudeness of men, but with Davis, it was different; more sinister, somehow. He was kind to her when he was sober, but the ale and rum and wine brought out a side of him that Lila didn’t care for in the slightest. 

The Gods weren’t much in the habit of listening to bastards, she decided, for it was half a heartbeat later when he turned on his heels and began to walk toward her. She tensed, knowing that his behaviour last evening (and the evening before that), disgusting as it was, had been subdued by the presence of other patrons in the Inn. 

“Aye, there she is. My sweet little fishmonger,” Davis slurred over his words as he drew closer to where Lila was standing. 

“I’m busy, Davis,” Lila replied sternly, focusing on her work. She was already up to her forearms in fish guts and hoped that the smell would be enough to deter him. 

It wasn’t. 

“Too busy for little ol’ me?” he said slyly, running a hand across her upper back. 

“Yes, actually,” she replied as she bristled at his touch. She stepped to the side, uncoiling from his arm, pretending to reach for the waste pail beneath the stage. “If you want a meal later this evening, I need to keep working.” She replied to his question half in jest, trying to deflect his advances without causing a scene. 

Not liking her answer, Davis grabbed her wrist and twisted her so that she was facing him. Her jaw was set in a fierce, taught line, fists clenched so hard that her fingernails drew blood from her palm. He was essentially on top of her then, his rancid breath hot on her face. She turned her head, looking away from him as she tried futilly to wriggle her wrist free. 

“You’re a brazen little bitch, aren’t you?” he said as he pressed himself against her, pinning her between his body and the wooden fish stage. 

“Davis, no, please, stop,” she sputtered. She was revolted as she could feel his hardness on her abdomen, her mind frantically trying to think of a way to escape. 

Before she had an opportunity to reply, Davis’ other hand had slid down her back and over her rear. He squeezed her behind and ripped the worn fabric of her skirts, pushing her up so that she was sitting on the stage. His hand slipped into the hole he had made in her clothes and was advancing steadily to her most private area. 

Panicked, Lila’s survival instincts took over. She was trapped and couldn’t run, but she had to get away. He was about to rape her. In the corner of her eye she noticed the wooden handle of her splitting knife, and without thinking, Lila laid back onto the stage, raised her arm above her head and stretched, walking her fingers toward her knife. Davis was ripping a hole in her small clothes when she finally grabbed hold of the splitting knife’s handle, swung herself back up to a sitting position, and drove the knife forcefully into Davis’ shoulder. 

Or, at least, she had thought it was his shoulder. 

He released her then, staggering backward as he clutched at his neck. He ripped the knife from his flesh as he tripped over his own feet, falling backward onto the gravel and grass of the yard. Blood was spurting wildly from the wound. Horrified at what she had done, Lila lunged forward with her cleaning towels, trying desperately to staunch the wound. She hadn’t meant to kill the man; she just didn’t want to be raped. She didn’t need another mouth to feed. 

Screaming for help, Lila did her best to stop the bleeding but it was of little use. The towels were soaked in seconds, a large pool of Davis’ blood forming beneath them. The blood covered her arms, chest, and dress. 

And that’s how they found her. 

Nobody believes a bastard, much less a bastard woman. The townspeople didn’t believe that she’d done what she did in self-defence, and they certainly didn’t believe that she hadn’t meant to cut his throat. Davis bled out before her eyes, the gawkers more concerned with watching the spectacle than calling for a healer or even for more towels. His eyes rolled back in his head and his chest took one last shallow breath, and in the next moment, he was still. Lila kneeled next to him, her skirt soaking up the ocean of blood that had come from his neck. In death, he looked more like her friend, Davis Snow, and not at all like Drunken Davis who preyed on her. Her gaze was blank and unseeing as she sat there, unable to move. The Innkeeper had told her to stay put, as they had called for Lady Mormont; they needed their liege lady to judge such a heinous crime. 

And now, here she was, being dragged along by some of Lady Mormont’s men, back to the Keep, where she knew Lady Mormont would sentence her to die and then ceremoniously chop off her head. Perhaps the She-Bear wouldn’t even do it herself; Lila was only a lowborn bastard, after all. She didn’t even have a surname. There wasn’t enough honour in the world to make a Lord or Lady show respect to people like her. 

The castle must have been much farther than Lila remembered, because it felt like hours before they arrived at Mormont Keep. Truth be told, it looked to Lila to be a gigantic log cabin, though it was quite obviously much grander than a simple woods shack, and easily fifteen times as large. Lila had been expecting a stone castle like she had heard about in the traveller’s tales at the Inn, but Mormont Keep looked nothing like she’d expected. 

It was constructed of incredibly large logs, entire trees, really, and Lila couldn’t fathom how a tree so large had ever stood on its own in a forest. The Keep was fortified with stone as well, of course, and it looked almost as if the wood and stone had been woven together with a loom. 

They entered the Keep through the front door and proceeded straight in through the heavy wooden doors that led to the Great Hall. The inside of the castle was a wonder; the walls were made of the same thick, heavy, polished logs that adorned the outside of the castle, the likes of which Lila had never seen before. They were utterly massive and a beautiful, rich brown, with a clear lacquer over top of them to preserve the wood. The floors were equally as beautiful. While they were not marble, like Lila had expected, they were made of a gorgeous brown stone polished to perfection and adorned with thick wool rugs the same colour as the Mormont banners. The deep green colour was pleasing to the eye and looked regal amongst the wood and stone. In any other circumstance, Lila was sure she would’ve thought it was beautiful. 

It had taken Lady Mormont’s guard much longer to take their prisoner to the Keep than their Lady had taken to get herself settled. Upon Lila’s arrival, Lady Mormont was already sitting in a large chair with wooden arms and plush seats the same colour as the rugs and banners, her hands folded tightly on the massive oak table before her. The tables had been pushed backward from the front of the room, and in their place was a low wooden bench that matched the other furniture. The men let go of Lila’s arms, and with hands tied behind her back, she presumptuously walked to the bench in front of Lady Mormont, knelt behind it, and placed her head face down on the bench, preparing for the execution. She knew it was insolent behaviour, but she saw no point in delaying the inevitable any longer. 

The She-Bear chuckled as she said, “While I appreciate your willingness to comply, dear, the bench was brought to sit on. So, you may sit, Lila.” 

Surprised, Lila looked up cautiously, confused as to what was going on. Why drag out this process? To punish her further? Filled with trepidation, Lila stood up, walked slowly around the side of the bench, and sat in front of the leader of House Mormont. She said nothing, simply looking toward the older woman expectantly, stoically awaiting her fate. 

Lady Mormont dismissed all of her guards and staff but her daughter, Alysane, and the head of her guard. When they had all exited the hall, Lady Mormont brought her attention back to the bastard girl. 

“Now that we are alone, I can speak freely,” she began. “It seems to me that you were just as much the victim in this situation as our friend Davis Snow. Would you agree with that statement, Lila?”

Lila stared blankly at the highborn lady, unsure of what she should say. She was almost a victim, certainly, but Davis was dead and here she was, alive with her virtue intact. Was it a trick question?

“Let me rephrase that,” the She-Bear said when she saw Lila was unwilling to answer. “You acted in self-defense, did you not?”

Lila swallowed hard before she said, “yes, milady.” Her throat was painfully dry now, and the more time that passed, the more difficult it was becoming to find her voice.

“Right. I believe that’s plain to see from the rather large tears in your dress,” Lady Mormont regarded Lila’s garment with a look that was half disgust and half pity. “You work at the Inn, so I imagine you see many men enjoying their meat and mead nearly every night. Drunken men often get themselves into some rather compromising positions, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, damn them all,” Lila snorted, forgetting herself. Her eyes widened as she realized what she had said, and to whom. “Mi’lady, forgive me, I forgot -”

Alysane smirked as Lady Mormont waved away Lila’s apology, laughing heartily, “My dear, fear not: you are not in the presence of easily offended men - or their egos - here. We Mormont women know a thing or two about the unconventional. I shall not judge you for your strong Northern sensibilities.”

“Thank you, milady, I meant no disrespect.”

“No, dear, I know you did not, and I see that you are quite well mannered for your station,” she replied, not stopping to allow the young woman to reply. “Well, Lila the well-mannered, it seems that I find myself in a very difficult situation. I see your reasoning, and I am inclined to believe you did not intend to kill that man. I’m afraid I may have acted too quickly in order to appease my bannermen and my people, as I did not see any other possibilities at the time. I regret that rash decision, but alas, there is no sense in dwelling. The fact of the matter is that I have already declared you guilty in front of the people of the village, because I unfortunately saw no other choice at the time. The evidence was glaring. You understand that, do you not?”

“Yes, Lady Mormont.”

“Good, I thought you would,” Lady Mormont shifted in her seat. “I do believe that you acted in self-defense, and, having once been a young lady myself, many moons ago, I know precisely the precarious circumstances we women can find ourselves in. Therefore, I do not think it appropriate to punish you for protecting yourself like a proper Northern woman, particularly not by death.”

Lila’s head shot up as she stared at the She-Bear in disbelief. She had to have misheard, hadn’t she? 

“I - I - I’m not sure I know what it is you mean, my lady,” Lila said shakily. 

“What I mean is that you shall not be executed, my dear girl, and I would like to keep your punishment as lax as possible. 

“But, as we have already established, you were found guilty before many of your fellow villagers, and so no matter my opinion of you, I would think it unwise to allow you to return to your former home and position.”

Tears were falling freely from Lila’s eyes now in spite of herself. She was simultaneously utterly relieved and filled with a gut-wrenching fear. 

“Thank-you, milady, thank you for my life,” Lila said between sobs. “I mean no disrespect, my lady, and I am so grateful to you for sparing my life, please know that, but...I must say that, this is my home, and - well, not home I suppose - but I have never been off Bear Island, my lady, and I have no family…”

“What you mean to say is that you have no other place to go.”

“Yes, milady,” Lila sighed with relief at the woman’s understanding of her convoluted explanation. “I know no other place to go.” 

Lady Mormont sat back in her plush green chair, a pensive look on her face. Lila began to feel lightheaded, her forehead pounding brutally with every beat of her heart. 

“Well, you can’t very well stay on Bear Island,” Lady Mormont said. “And I would think it unwise to remain anywhere in the North, lest someone recognize you. I would expect you also cannot afford safe passage to the South.”

“No, milady. I have no savings, nor any family to pay my way.”

“Hmm,” the older woman sighed. She stopped for a moment, rubbing her forehead as a thought came to her, “My dear, you might think me mad, but...what about the Wall?”

There was a moment of shocked silence before Alysane, who had been observing the conversation quietly thus far, interjected, “Mother, you cannot be serious.” 

“Why not?” Lady Mormont retorted, turning to look at her daughter. “She is a strong Northern woman, she can handle herself.” 

“But Mother,” Alysane cried. “The Wall is filled with traitors and rapists, and a dozen other kinds of criminals! Not to mention the minor detail that women are not permitted at the Wall.” 

Lady Mormont scoffed and rolled her eyes, “You are being very small-minded, my daughter. I acknowledge your point of the added dangers, but there are ways around the ‘woman’ issue -”

“Ways around?” Alysane said incredulously. “How on Earth are there ways around it, Mother? You’ve gone mad! She is very plainly a woman! Breasts, a feminine face, nevermind that fact that she will bleed -”

“She doesn’t have to be a woman,” Lady Mormont interrupted bluntly, as if it were the most obvious statement she’d ever made.

Alysane’s face went from frustrated to flabbergasted as she understood the meaning in her mother’s words, “Mother, you can’t honestly be suggesting…”

“Yes, I am,” Lady Mormont said with a huff. “I am suggesting she take on the appearance of a man.”

The suggestion was met with a stunned silence. 

“For the rest of her life?” Alysane said then in disbelief. “You would send her to the Wall, and expect her to hide her identity, forever? This ploy worked temporarily when we needed a one-way passage for some distant cousin, but this -”

“I am growing rather tired of your inability to comprehend, Alysane,” Lady Mormont said abruptly. “Consider it for a moment: the poor girl has nowhere else to go. We can’t very well send her off to fend for herself. As our good friend Eddard Stark would say, ‘Winter is coming,’ and I cannot foresee any man in the North being willing to take on another mouth to feed, much less a bastard and a stranger, no matter how great her work ethic. Conversely, she cannot stay here; she’ll be killed. 

“If she goes to the Wall and keeps her head down, no one will be any wiser, and perhaps it can be a temporary measure until other arrangements can be made. She is small enough that she would likely be made a Steward, so she would be safe in the kitchens or some other place relatively free of danger, and I would inform Lord Commander Snow eventually -”

“I’ll do it,” Lila said evenly, interrupting the squabble between mother and daughter. Both of the older women turned to look at her with disbelief on their faces. The entirety of Lady Mormont’s argument had been compelling enough to make Lila consider this idea, mad as it was, but it was the woman’s mention of the bastard surname that made Lila’s decision for her. 

“You will?” Alysane said, shocked. 

“I will. I can’t stay here, and I’d rather freeze to death in depths of the North than to become some whore in King’s Landing. Brothels don’t suit me well.”

A smile spread across Lady Mormont’s face as she appraised the bastard girl. The She-Bear couldn’t help but be impressed by the young thing’s courage. 

Alysane spoke up again, “Lila, dear, you cannot possibly understand what you are agreeing -”

“Very well,” Lady Mormont said, raising a hand to silence her daughter. “The decision has been made. We shall put you in the Guest Chambers for tonight, so you will not be subject to the gossiping whispers of the servants. On the morrow, we will begin your preparations for your journey to the Wall. Good evening, dear, and do try not to get blood on my rugs on your way to freshen up.” With that, the She-Bear rose from her seat and made her way out of the hall, Alysane close behind, still protesting her mother’s decision. 

Lila sat on the bench as they left, utterly stunned. Nothing about this day and been what she’d expected. She’d woken up with the intention of preparing a large boiler of fish stew and somehow, now, she was headed for the Wall. In that moment, with the realization of her fate upon her, Lila began praying once again to any Gods she could think of; perhaps this time they would listen.


	2. The Day After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lila awakes to a flurry of activity and marvels at how quickly her life has been completely, and permanently, changed.

### LILA

The morning after Lady Mormont’s act of mercy, Lila awoke in the Guest Chambers of Mormont Keep in a deep, soft bed covered with quilts and a mountain of furs. The night before she’d been offered a bath, a hot supper (that she didn’t have to cook herself), and was given several outfits of men’s clothing for her journey north-east to the Wall. 

She couldn’t remember ever having been treated so well in all her life. 

She shared some vague anecdotes about her life with Lady Mormont, Dacey, Alysane, and Lyra at breakfast, touching on her mother’s death when she was ten and how Morg, the innkeep, had let her live and work with him since that time because she believed he harboured a secret love for her mother. It was refreshing to receive no judgement from the other women; the Mormont girls were no stranger to living a fatherless existence, nor were they unused to fending for themselves. 

Near the end of the meal, the table became quiet. Lila was due to leave soon, and there was a sense of apprehension and concern in the air. It weighed heavily on Lila, but she dared not to make a mention of her discomfort to her hosts, for they’d been so gracious to her already. 

Lady Mormont was the first to break the uncomfortable silence, “Well, Lila, dear, it seems we must finalize the arrangements for your departure. 

“I’ve arranged for a large passenger boat to take you across to Deepwood Motte. From there, a man named Yoren will collect you at the docks and you will travel with his party northward to the Wall.” Lila nodded her agreement, still shovelling her breakfast into her mouth. 

“When you arrive,” Lady Mormont continued, “you will be greeted by the Lord Commander and several of the other brothers, as well. I’ve written ahead to inform Lord Commander Snow that I am sending a potential steward his way, but I’ve made it clear that he is not to ask you to say the vows. I asked him to keep my young charge safe for time being, so he knows that you are not there to commit your life to the Night’s Watch. That’s about as much as I could send to him in writing. He will take good care of you, even if he doesn’t know your secret.” 

The rest of the conversation was mostly logistics of the role Lila was to play: wear men’s clothing, cut her hair, and wear layers to eliminate the curvature of her body. 

“You will also need to use leather to flatten your chest,” Lady Mormont had said. “Much like a corset, only more practical and less provocative.”

The older woman turned to look at her with a serious, solemn look on her face, “It is of the utmost importance that you take extreme care to not reveal your secret while you are under the employ of the Night’s Watch.”

“Yes,” Alysane piped up. “Some of the men who take the black these days are not so much men, but rather, creatures. You will be in grave danger if the find you out.”

Lady Mormont looked sideways at her daughter, rolling her eyes, “Thank you for that, darling daughter. Though I may disagree with her wording, Alysane is right: the Wall is a dangerous place for a woman, even with an honourable Lord Commander and the likes of Samwell Tarly among them. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Lila nodded. “I will not reveal myself, no matter the situation. Forgive my insolence, milady, but I’ve lived and worked in the only Inn this side of Bear Island since I was the age of ten. I’ve seen it all, and I’m sure that I’ll be able to manage, particularly if the men are under the impression that I am one of them.”

Lady Mormont smiled, “Yes, I believe you will, child. Now, here are the arrangements I’ve made for your journey.

“Tonight, in the safety of darkness, Dacey will accompany you to the castle docks where you will remain tightly tucked under your cloak and board a boat destined for Deepwood Motte. She will be with you until you reach the other side, but from there, you will be on your own. When you arrive, speak to no one other than a quick thank you to the sailors, if you so wish, and a man named Yoren. You will recognize him from his attire; he’ll be dressed head to toe in black and will likely look a bit disheveled.

“Yoren has been instructed to take the ‘recruit’ from Bear Island under his wing, which means you’ll likely be travelling near him for the duration of your journey. Luckily, we are already rather far North; your trip should not take a terribly long time. 

“Once you get there - and this is important, Lila - obtain the most private sleeping quarters that you can manage to get. This is crucial. The more secluded your chambers, the more well-kept your secret will be. Do you understand?”

Lila nodded, “Aye, milady. I cannot tell you how grateful I am, for everything.”

Lady Mormont patted her on the hand, “Yes, dear, I am aware. It seems the least I can do, what with my having prematurely convicted you of murder.” She chuckled as she turned back to finish the remnants of her morning wine. 

 

The She-Bear stood up to leave then, and in a chipper and abrupt tone, said, “Well, dear, you haven’t got all day. You must go prepare for your journey - and learn to be a man. You’ve about twelve hours, I believe.”

Lila stared incredulously at the woman as she sauntered from the hall, hardly believing the reality of her situation. Lady Mormont seemed quite nonchalant about the whole ordeal, while Dacey and her sisters seemed wary and a bit afraid for her; Lila herself wasn’t sure exactly how to feel. 

She had gone to her chambers after excusing herself from the morning meal and began to practice binding her chest. Thankfully, she wasn’t particularly large-chested, otherwise the task may have proved impossible. It was hard enough as it was; Lila had to wrap the leather tightly around her chest many, many times. It would slip and she would lose her progress. It took her over an hour to get it to work the first time, and she was so frustrated she nearly began to tear out her hair. Up to this point, she had been surprisingly okay with her decision to journey northward and hide her identity, but now Dacey and Alysane's somber faces flashed through her mind on repeat, their disapproval obvious. It planted a seed of doubt in Lila; she’d been fine before, but now, she was questioning every decision she’d ever made.

The Mormonts had given her a small trunk to pack her very few belongings, which mostly consisted of the outfits they’d given her and the things she’d need to pretend she was a man. They’d given her pairs of boots two sizes too big and stuffed the toes with rags to give the illusion of bigger feet, and Lyra had instructed her to keep her hair cut short. 

Reluctantly, Lila took a set of shears to her long, luscious, dark brown locks. Her hair had always the one part of herself she didn’t completely detest. Now she chopped it all away, and with it, her identity. 

Immediately before she’d stepped off the boat and onto the dock of Deepwood Motte, Dacey had grabbed her hand and jerked her back to look on her face. She searched Lila’s face rapidly, but what she was looking for, Lila didn’t know. 

Dacey had made no secret of her opinion of Lady Mormont’s solution for Lila. It much aligned with Alysane’s; namely, she vehemently disagreed with the whole idea and wished to the Old Gods that her meddling mother had never mentioned it. She had said so, rather plainly, as Lila moved to make landfall on the mainland of Westeros for the very first time.

 

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Dacey had said. “I can take you back to Bear Island. We can figure something else out.”

Lila sighed, having heard the same thing from almost all the Mormont daughters in the last day. It was getting a bit exhausting. 

“Milady, I appreciate your concern, but I don’t think I really any other options. I told you, I’ve no one to take me in and I’m not much of a whore.”

“I just…” Dacey began. “We Mormonts are tough, but I cannot imagine being alone amongst all those evil men. All those murderers, and, well, the rapists…”

Lila studied her for a moment, trying to understand the implication in the other woman’s words. 

“You saw what I did to the last fella who tried to wrong me,” Lila chuckled. 

“That’s exactly my point,” Dacey replied, not missing a beat. “If you find yourself in another perilous situation, the Lord Commander might not be as forgiving as my lady mother.”

“Which I suppose is why I’m pretending to be a man.”

Dacey huffed in frustration, her patience finally running out, “You’ve never been raped, Lila! You have almost been, certainly; we saw that yesterday. But you have no idea what it’s like to be _powerless_ , to have your womanhood and dignity taken from you. You have no idea what it’s like to drink moon tea and pray to the gods that no vile bastard has taken root in your belly. You don’t know what it’s like to later mourn your would-be motherhood while at the same time feeling immense relief to not have to bring a monster’s progeny into this world. You just don’t know. But I do.”

Lila hadn’t expected that. It made sense now, why the girls had been so against their mother’s idea. To think, even highborn she-bears like the Mormonts could be victims, too. She suddenly didn’t feel quite so alone in the world. 

Lila gazed upon Dacey for a long moment, then said, “I hear you, milady. I’ll be careful.”

“Please do,” the Mormont heir replied. “I may not know you, Lila, and you may just be ‘some commoner,’ but I feel compelled to protect my fellow women. Particularly my fellow northern women. If you must go, keep your wits about you. Keep your head down, stay out of trouble, and know that we’re thinking of you. 

“You’re quite scrappy, and quite tough, Lila. Don’t let your guard down, not even for a second. Run if you have to. Do what you need to do to survive.”

“Thank you for everything, milady,” Lila replied, not knowing how to accept a compliment and wishing very much to not further talk of the perils that were waiting for her at the Wall. 

“It’s Dacey, to you,” she smiled. “Think nothing of it. It’s the least we could do. Goodbye, Lila. I pray we will see you again.”

A lump in her throat and a quiver in her hands, Lila climbed from the boat onto the wharf. She began to walk toward her future, with a wider stance, like the ladies had taught her, when she turned to take one last look at the highborn lady whose family had been so good to her. Their kindness had touched her deeply, and looking on Dacey once more, she almost reconsidered her decision. 

Almost. 

Just beyond the Mormont woman was a group of sailors handling a long, rectangular pine box. It must have been heavy, as it took several of them to move the cargo, and they took great care to handle it as gently as they could. 

Swallowing back the bile that had risen in her throat, Lila realized that the box was not just cargo: it was the corpse of Davis Snow being returned to his father. 

She turned on her heels and walked as quickly as she could without drawing too much attention to herself, willing her stomach to not send her dinner back up. This was definitely the right decision, she decided. Perhaps one day she could forget all of this mess and permanently leave this life behind. 

In her tizzy, she nearly rammed into a small group of men who had collected at the base of the wharf. Hands caught her shoulders and repositioned her. She looked up into the face of a gruff, weathered man who was dressed all in the blackest of blacks.  
Yoren. 

Embarrassed at her misstep, but desperate to get out of this personal hell, she boldly spoke first, “Are you Yoren?”

“Aye, that is my name. You must be Lady Mormont’s charge.”

“I am.”

“Very well,” Yoren replied. “We leave at first light. We’re sleeping in a barn of the local Inn. That was the most they would agree to, and I suppose I can’t blame them. I’ve been instructed to keep you close by, though I can’t imagine why, and so you will assist me on our journey, with whatever needs assisting.”

Lila nodded. 

Yoren had turned to walk away when he turned back abruptly, “Before we join the others, lad, what is your name?”

Lila started momentarily; she hadn’t thought this far ahead. What in the name of the gods was she going to call herself?”

“Morg,” she blurted before she could catch herself. “Morg Davis.”

“Alright then, Morg Davis. Follow me. We’ll meet with the other men and settle for the evening. Good luck.”

She internally kicked herself - Morg _Davis_? Of all the names she could have come up with, that was what her mind had decided upon? She shook her head, disgusted with herself. 

Perhaps this was Davis Snow’s spirit, haunting her. Perhaps this was his way of ensuring that he got his revenge. He would probably haunt her dreams and make every night a fresh version of hell, but a teeny, tiny voice in the back of her mind was quite satisfied with this claiming of her attacker’s name. He was the reason she was in this mess, after all. That tiny voice relished in the sweet irony of it all, in the private act of vengeance she had taken. No, she supposed being haunted by the Bastard of Glover was no matter, not really. Haunted dreams could not possibly be worse than her waking life.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

She could feel the Wall before she could see it, truth be told. There was a sharp drop in temperature, which surprised her initially. She had never thought it could get colder than the cutting, damp cold that chilled one’s bones during the frequent Summer Snows on Bear Island. But apparently, it could. 

Mainland Westeros had been rather unimpressive thus far. It was essentially just a copy of the woods on Bear Island, except muddier and without any rock formations or sea water to look upon. It was dreadfully dull, in Lila’s opinion, but by this time, she’d become rather apathetic. She didn’t really care about anything anymore. 

The top of the Wall came into view less than an hour later.

“Holy fucking shit,” one of the men beside her said. She hadn’t bothered to learn their names, as she didn’t expect she’d do much talking to anyone during her time at Castle Black. She smirked to herself under her cloak, laughing internally at the men’s reaction to the sight before them. There was something funny about seeing them squirm. They normally had such a pompous, cocky demeanour, and to see them shocked - and some of them afraid - gave her a twisted sense of satisfaction. 

She had to admit, cynical though she’d become, that the ice had a kind of haunting beauty. It certainly livened up the landscape, if nothing else. It wasn’t the sea, but it would do. 

Folks hadn’t been exaggerating when they said that the Wall was 700 feet high. Though the Wall had come into view that morning, it was nearly evenfall before they arrived. 

As they drew nearer to the Wall, a line of men formed to greet them. She had listened intently to many of the conversations on the journey, particularly when Yoren would describe Castle Black and its inhabitants. 

She gathered that the tall, slim, angry looking man with silver streaks in his hair was Ser Alliser Thorne, the Master-at-Arms. Even without the physical description, Lila thought she would recognize the man simply from what she’d heard about his personality. He looked particularly hardened to the world, and equally as angry. 

The old man whose cloudy eyes were unseeing was clearly Maester Aemon. Yoren called him the greatest Maester who had ever lived. Lila didn’t see much use for Maesters; she could make a bread poultice and stitch a wound just as well as any Maester she had ever seen. 

The pudgy, perpetually frightened-looking one next to Maester Aemon had to be Samwell Tarly. She had heard that his father, Randyll, had banished him, not wanting him as a stain on his House. She decided then that Sam would be one of the few people she might actually speak to; Lila thought he had an honest soul, if such a thing could be assessed on a first glance. 

Many of the men were surprisingly good looking, despite living at the edge of the world for quite some time. The one in the middle, though, was the one who really caught her eye. She cursed herself; she was a damned bastard and that sometimes made her a wanton woman. She had often lusted after men who tickled her fancy at the Inn, though she had never acted on her impulses. It was embarrassing, but she supposed that not much else could be expected from a low-born girl who was never supposed to exist. 

He was handsome. She couldn’t help but sneak a peak at him from under her hood when he wasn’t looking. Tall, slim, with locks of curly brown hair. And the eyes. They were somber, pensive, and made of an icy grey that could cut through a man with the ease and fervour of Valyrian steel. 

She couldn’t place him. She’d tried to take note of everyone that Yoren had mentioned, knowing that knowledge was power in her position. She couldn’t be too prepared. Still, though, she could not place this man, and it made her uneasy. She did not like feeling blindsided. 

Finally, the mystery man broke the silence. 

“Welcome to the Wall. I trust you’ve been educated on your role here, and that you are ready and willing to say your vows and become Sworn Brothers of the Night’s Watch. 

“I will allow you all to get settled in a moment, but before I do, I would like to reiterate a fact that is of the utmost importance. 

“We live in a tumultuous time, one that has pitted many men against one another and caused innumerable conflicts between families and Houses. Before you enter Castle Black, it must be understood that all of that is in the past. It matters not to whom your blood relatives have sworn their allegiance, and it matters not where you come from. On the Wall, we are all one House.” 

As he spoke, feeling of dread creeped up into Lila’s chest, choking the attraction she felt to the man before her. She suddenly felt the weight of her choice to come to the Wall, and just how heavy that choice was. But there was no turning back now. 

How had she gotten here? How was this her life? She was now acutely aware of her femininity, amongst these hundreds of brute, gruff, brazen men. 

The man was still talking. Her heart sunk further and her dread was like to strangle her where she stood, for now she knew who he was, the mystery man who had instantly threatened her cover. He was no ordinary Brother. 

He was Lord Commander Snow.


	3. The Wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lila's instincts prompt her to spring into action at the expense of keeping her secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters written in three days! Gah! 
> 
> Updates will definitely not be this frequent on a regular basis, but I've had some time off and felt inspired to write some more, so I did! 
> 
> Just a note: This is heavy AU, so some events and facts might diverge from the original. Also, other perspectives will be coming soon!

### LILA

She’d taken to drinking most nights. 

She’d been fortunate enough to get work in the kitchen, as Lady Mormont had suggested, and she had even gotten a little room in the very back of the kitchen’s servants quarters, so she was almost always alone when she wasn’t working. 

Up hours before sunrise and working until supper, it wasn’t so different from her life at the Inn. The exception was that on Bear Island, she’d had people to talk to. 

It was lonely, being a man-who-was-really-a-woman at Castle Black. Dacey and Alysane had been right; keeping to herself was the best decision. Some of the men really were dangerous, having committed crimes so vile that they made drunk Davis Snow look like a mewling kitten. She knew it was the smart choice, but just because keeping to herself was the safest option didn’t make it any less lonely. 

She hated that she felt that way. She felt weak. A man wouldn’t feel this need for companionship, for friends to talk to, or if he did, he would squash the feeling with conviction and go on about his life. Lila cursed herself, like she did almost every day, for having been born a woman. 

It wasn’t just her longing for friendship that made her hate her womanhood: it was also because of _him_. She hadn’t seen the Lord Commander since the first day when they’d arrived, other than seeing him walking through the Hall of Shields during an occasional meal, and she thanked the Gods that was the case. 

She thought for sure her face would betray her on her first day, that they would learn her secret before she even entered the castle grounds. She had been mesmerized by him, by his rugged beauty. If anyone had seen the expression she wore, they would have known she was a woman, or if not a woman, then a man with forbidden interests. Either way, it would not have ended well for Lila. 

Luckily, though, no one had noticed the flush in her skin when she looked upon the Lord Commander’s face, or if they had, they hadn’t attributed it to the ferocious lust she felt. From that point on, not only did she go to great lengths to never cross paths with Lord Commander Snow, but she also worked very hard to not cross paths with _anyone_. 

In the evenings, when she was done serving the evening meal, Lila would discreetly take a bottle of wine back to her sleeping quarters, pop the cork, and drink it right from the bottle. In the beginning, she had brought a cup back with her, but she soon realized that she was dirtying a dish for nothing, and there was no one here to see her or judge her for being “unladylike.” So really, what did it matter? The short answer was that it didn’t, but it still felt wrong to her somehow. 

The only thing that kept her sane was knowing that eventually, her time here would come to an end. She would, at some point, be retrieved by some combination of the Mormonts. The problem was she didn’t know when, and once they came, she didn’t know where she could possibly go next. 

Her apathy had only increased in the months since she’d arrived. Nothing brought her joy anymore. Lila had always known hardship in her life - being brought up in an Inn and under Morg’s guidance had seen to that - but this was something new, something foreign that she had never experienced. At home, she knew that somebody was looking out for her, and she likewise had people to look out for. Here, she was completely and utterly alone. 

The cooks appreciated her knowledge, though, and that was something. They had had to teach her very little when it came time for her to start training with them. She kept up with them easily and was often a few steps ahead of them in terms of food preparation. She always had everything ready to go, cleaned up as she went, and had even made some small suggestions to improve some of the dishes that were served. The cooks often said thank you, in their gruff way, and though she wouldn’t risk getting to know them for fear of being found out, feeling useful was certainly a bright spot in her otherwise dreary life. 

That day - the day that everything changed - she had proved herself a little _too_ useful. 

She’d been peeling potatoes when the fighting began. From the Shieldhall came an intensely loud crash, the sound of metal cups and plates making contact with the cold stone floor. The yelling came next, a chorus of men’s voices in ever timbre imaginable; if it weren’t for the angry undertones, Lila would’ve sworn it was a holiday evening at the Bear Island Inn. 

Normally, scuffles and disagreements settled rather quickly, but as the minutes passed, the shouts and crashes became more intense. In the next instant came a horrifying scream of pain, and on instinct, she put down the potato in her hand and made her way out into the Hall, a habit of all those nights she spent crossing the threshold of the bar. 

It was so much worse than she had expected. What had begun as a rather loud and raucous disagreement had transformed into a physical fight. No, she observed, not a fight: a duel.

There were men tackling Borus, a new recruit who’d arrived at the Wall as a member in Lila’s party only a few months ago. On the ground lay Pyp, friend of Grenn and Lord Commander Snow, clutching his side and trying his best to not cry out again in pain. A pool of the boy’s blood was forming beneath him and Lila shook her head to rid herself of the image of Davis Snow, bleeding out and dying in her hands. 

Adrenaline took the reins as Lila sprung into action, not considering the attention her actions might bring to her. She would not, could not, sit back and watch another man bleed to death. She lunged forward, ripped the hood off her cloak and immediately began to staunch the wound in Pyp’s abdomen. 

“Help me carry him!” she cried, nearly forgetting to deepen her voice before she spoke. Grenn and Edd came forward to lift him, Grenn at Pyp’s head and Edd at his feet. 

“Someone call for Maester Aemon! Or for Sam!” one of the men shouted. Lila didn’t even bother to look up: she didn’t need Maester Aemon, nor did she need Samwell Tarly. 

She motioned them toward the back of the hall and into the kitchen where she ripped the remainder of her cloak off her shoulders and laid it on one of the prep tables, directing the men to lay Pyp atop it. 

“Oi, Morg! What in the seven ‘ells are ya doing?” one of the cooks cried out. She paid him no mind. She had a wound to heal. 

“Take off his cloak and shirt,” she commanded Edd and Grenn, and to her surprise, neither objected or questioned her. She ran to a back cupboard and grabbed a bottle of clear, pungent rum and returned to the kitchen in less than five heartbeats. 

“What, you think he’ll just drink his pain away?” Edd said in disgust when he saw the rum in her hand. “Who the in the name of the gods are you, anyway?” 

“I’m Pyp’s best friend at the moment,” she replied snappily, not even bothering to look up at the man who insulted her. She didn’t have time for his squabbling, because what she needed was hot water and rags to fix Pyp up as quickly as possible. 

Luckily, there was already a pot of boiling water on the wood-stove. She quickly poured some of it into a basin and added a small amount of cold water so as to not burn her skin beyond repair. Though it had been cooled, it was still searing hot as she dunked her arms into the basin up to her elbows. It hurt, but she had no other choice. She had tried to heal her first ever wound without washing first and it became disgustingly infected. She didn’t understand why, but after that incident, she swore she would never heal anything without washing ever again. 

With a warm, wrung out cloth, Lila turned back to the prep table and took a look at Pyp’s wound. Her hands were screaming at her; the water had been too hot. She gritted her teeth to cope with the pain, determined to inspect this wound and help Pyp. Luckily, the gash hadn’t reached his organs, so Lila was confident that she could help him before he lost too much blood. With the warm cloth in hand, Lila began to gently wash away the excess blood and dirt on his skin. She took the hood of what was once her cloak and lifted it from the wound to find that the bleeding hadn’t stopped completely, but it had subsided enough that she could work with it. She took the warm cloth once again and began to clean the wound as much as she could, taking care to remove any wool fibres that may have been left over from the fabric. Satisfied with her cleaning job, she reached over and grabbed another wet cloth and began to wipe some of the sweat off of Pyp’s feverish, glistening forehead. 

“Here,” she said, handing Pyp his bundled shirt. “You’ll want to bite this.”

A look of confusion crossed his face, as well as Grenn and Edd’s faces, as she said that, but again, she didn’t have time to explain her methods to the men. In this moment, her first and only priority was closing the wound before it had a chance to get infected. 

Lila picked up the bottle of clear rum and unscrewed the cap, took a swig, and then began to pour some of the rum gently over the wound. 

Pyp yelled in response, the alcohol obviously burning the cut rather badly. Grenn and Edd looked horrified. 

“What are you doing to him?!” Grenn cried. 

“Making sure he doesn’t get an infection,” Lila replied evenly. She ran outside through the back kitchen door and grabbed snow, packing it together until it resembled a bar of soap. 

“Hold this for several seconds on each side of the wound,” she directed Grenn. “It will help ease the pain, at least a little bit.” He obliged, though he was skeptical, taking the snow cake from her and doing as she said. 

Grabbing the small sewing kit the Mormonts had given her, she wiped the needle with a cloth and threaded it. When she was done, she moved forward, getting ready to close the wound. 

“I’m sorry, Pyp, but this is probably going to hurt,” she said. He whimpered a little in response but nodded weakly, the pain having taken his energy. 

Quickly and gently, with nimble fingers, Lila began to stitch the wound. Her hands were red and shrieking with pain. She could see the blisters forming on her palms, but she couldn’t let it distract her. Pyp was also wriggling in pain, but Lila persevered, not wanting to lose her momentum. 

She had just finished the final stitch when the kitchen door opened to reveal Sam Tarly accompanied by Maester Aemon. 

“What’s going on?” Sam inquired to nobody in particular, an air of bewilderment in his voice. His eyes were wide as saucers as he took in the scene before him.

“Sam, what is it?” Maester Aemon asked. 

“This kitchen boy, Morg,” Edd interjected, “decided to play the hero and try to treat Pyp’s stab wound. Nearly killed him, I’d wager.” Lila’s jaw clenched at his criticism, but she somehow maintained her composure. 

Aemon was quiet for a moment before he said, “Well, let us see what kind of job he’s done.” 

Sam took Maester Aemon’s elbow and guided him around the other side of the prep table, stopping once Sam was close enough to see the wound in detail. 

“Well, how does it look, Sam?”

“The stitches look neat, Maester, and there is no blood coming from the wound,” Sam replied, glancing sideways at Lila, unease and nervousness plain on his face. He couldn’t believe a kitchen boy could have taken such a risk.

“Hmm,” Maester Aemon murmured. “Did you clean the wound, child?”

Knowing he spoke to her, Lila spoke up, “Yes, Maester Aemon. With a warm cloth and then with a splash of white rum, non-spiced.” 

“Good, good,” Maester Aemon replied quietly. Edd and Grenn looked at each other uneasily, not having expected that reaction from the Maester. 

“Rum, Maester? We didn’t think Morg should have poured a _drink_ into Pyp’s cut…” Grenn trailed off. 

“On the contrary, Grenn. Alcohol is a powerful cleaner for wounds, we call it an antiseptic. Of course,” Maester Aemon smiled, “normally we would use a solution formulated by the Maesters, but a non-spiced rum would do the trick.” 

“Oh,” Grenn replied, puzzled. “Oh.”

Maester Aemon chuckled and directed his attention back to Lila, “Tell me, Morg, was the wound very deep?”

“Deep enough that I thought I’d better stitch it, but it didn’t reach his innards, if that’s what you’re asking.” Lila knew she shouldn’t take her frustration out on the kind old man, but she _was_ frustrated. Sam’s eyes widened even further, if it was possible, when he heard Morg talking back to Maester Aemon. 

Maester Aemon didn’t seem to mind, as he smiled when he replied, “Yes, child, that is what I was asking. You’re a clever one. 

“Sam, if you could have young Pypar brought to his sleeping quarters, I’d have you bring him some milk of the poppy for his pain, and then please come back to help me get back to my rooms. If the wound looks as you say, and it has been cleaned, I see no reason why Morg would not have done a satisfactory job. We’ll keep an eye on it, of course. Well, you will,” The Maester chuckled quietly at his own jape. 

“Yes, Maester, right away,” Sam replied, motioning to Grenn and Edd to help him get Pyp back upstairs. 

She watched them carry Pyp out through the kitchen door and wondered if she had sealed her own fate by drawing attention to herself. She could no longer be the ghost of Castle Black, at least not for a while. She would try, though.

Maester Aemon's velvety voice interrupted her thoughts, “Perhaps you were improperly placed.”

“Me?” Lila replied, surprised at both the interruption and the man's words. 

“Yes,” Maester Aemon said. “It seems you were in the right place at the right time today. A happy coincidence. Or perhaps it wasn’t a coincidence at all. At any rate, we could use more skill like yours.”

“Thank you, Maester, but my place is down here in the kitchens. I make a great fish head stew.”

“Well, should you ever change your mind, I’d be happy to advise you. I believe Samwell could use a firm influence,” Aemon replied as he felt his way to the door. 

“I’m sure I won’t, but thank you, Maester, for not going to the Lord Commander. I did a good job.”

“Yes, I believe you did, Morg. And there is no need to thank me. You may very well have saved that boy with your quick thinking. I do not see that as a punishable offence. Have a good evening, lad. I hope to speak with you again soon.” And with that, the Maester made his way slowly through the Shieldhall to wait for Sam in the entrance.

Lila leaned her hands against the table as a wave of exhaustion rolled over her. Saving someone had proven to be a lot of work. 

“You best get to cleanin’ that up,” the cook said behind her. “I won’t be ‘aving men’s blood in the supper.” 

Rolling her eyes, Lila wordlessly began to clean the mess Pyp’s procedure had left all over the kitchen. By the time she was done, she felt nearly as tired as she did the day she killed Davis Snow. 

By the grace of the gods, the cooks let her off early, and she didn’t have to serve the supper. Lila wanted to believe it was out of the goodness of their hearts, but somehow she thought the real reason may have had something to do with her blood and grime covered clothes and body. Whatever the reason, she’d never been so happy to be alone in her entire life. 

She walked into her room carrying a bucket of warm water, kicking the door to shut it but not having the energy to turn to close it completely. It was no matter; no one ever came back this far, and even if that weren’t true, at this moment everyone was eating supper. 

Using all of the energy she had left, Lila began peeling off the blood and sweat soaked clothes. The damned leather contraption Lady Mormont had insisted upon her wearing was tight and hot and she desperately needed it off her body so that she could wash. She smelled worse than a pig, in her opinion, and her hands were blistering from the hot water. She felt like she'd been pummeled by Robert Baratheon's Warhammer.

Finally free of her clothes and that gods-awful contraption, Lila sank down onto the floor, naked as her name day, and washed her body with the bucket of water and a bar of soap. It felt nearly as good as bathing in the tub in Mormont Keep. 

She pondered over the events of the day. Had it been smart to run to Pyp’s rescue? Dacey would say no, that she had put herself at risk by drawing too much attention to herself. Alysane would likely agree. Lila wondered what Lady Mormont might say, whether or not she would approve of her antics in the Hall of Shields this afternoon. Lila had to believe that Lady Mormont would disagree with her daughters on this matter, because otherwise...she wasn’t sure she could continue to justify it to herself. 

Despite her fear, Lila decided that it had been the right choice. What really mattered was that Pyp was alive and that Borus was going to be punished. She didn’t like that man, Borus. She found him callous and cruel. He stole and vandalized and assaulted women for no other reason than for fun, but somehow, he had convinced his Lord of his remorse, and was sent to join the Night’s Watch. 

Lila couldn’t stand him. 

Every time she saw the man it made her think about Davis Snow, what he’d done to her. It made her think of Dacey and what she had revealed to Lila before they parted ways. It didn’t sit well with her, the fact that because she didn’t have a cock, her entire life would be dictated to her and she would pretty well always be in danger. Even highborn ladies weren’t safe. It didn’t seem fair. She proved herself just as worthy and useful as a man today, but no one could ever know. Thinking about it left her with a heavy heart. 

“Morg?” a voice called through the crack in her door, breaking Lila from her reverie. “Are you in there?”

Startled, and cursing herself for not having just _closed the damn door_ , Lila jumped to grab her shirt, but as she did, she tripped on the bathing bucket, spilling its soapy contents all over the floor of her room and falling into the puddle. 

Simultaneously, Lila heard the sound of dishes falling to the floor, yet again. Praying for a miracle, hoping her visitor had tripped before he’d gotten to the door, she glanced over her shoulder to see how long she had before she was found. To her horror, she discovered that she’d already been found, breasts exposed and small clothes off. 

She’d been found out. She’d been found out by Samwell Tarly.


	4. The Ultimatum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is flushed at what he finds in Lila's room, but with a rare burst of courage, gives her an offer she can't refuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 600 hits. :) It might not be a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but it's a big deal to me! So, thanks so much for reading, for your kudos, and thank you especially to those who have subscribed. I sincerely hope you're enjoying it. :)

### SAM

The tray of supper he’d been carrying for Morg fell from his hands before he even knew it happened. 

_What_ was going on?

Sam knew he should avert his eyes, but couldn’t. He felt paralyzed by his shock. This was too much for him. 

Morg was a _woman_. 

Scrambling to grab a cloak to cover himself - no, _herself_ \- “Morg” sat on her bed, staring at Sam with a terrified yet defiant look on her face. 

“You’re...not…” Sam trailed off as he struggled to form words. 

“A man? No, I’m not,” Morg quipped. 

“You’re...a....”

“A woman, yes. Born without a cock and built to grow breasts.”

Sam felt his cheeks flush at her bluntness, “But...how…”

“I’ve been pretending, of course,” Morg responded. “I s'pose I haven’t been doin’ half bad, considering the look on your face.” She smirked at her own jape. 

“I came to bring you some supper…” Sam trailed off again. He was having an incredibly difficult time comprehending the scene before him. If Morg was a woman, how did she get to the Wall?

“Thanks,” Morg replied abruptly. She eyed Sam warily. He supposed she knew the precarious situation she was now in. 

“I dropped it, though.”

“I can see that,” Morg replied. “But thanks anyway. I can clean it up...once I get dressed.” 

“Right, oh, yes,” Sam flushed and turned toward the door. 

He'd nearly left the room when a sudden burst of bravery overtook him. Sam turned back around and said, without thinking too much about what he was going, “Actually, I have some questions, Morg. I cannot pretend I haven’t seen this. It isn’t right.”

The girl looked like she was bravely choking back terror as she audibly swallowed. The more he looked at her, the more he realized how blind he’d been. Blinder than Aemon! He didn’t know how he had missed that this person was a woman. It was painstakingly obvious: she was tall, yes, and her height certainly helped her ruse, but to look at her face was to know she was female. The high cheekbones, narrow chin, and eyes the shape of almonds and the colour of dewy moss. That face could only belong to a woman. How could she have gone this long in hiding? 

“What do you want to know?” Morg asked. She looked very, very scared. Sam was almost inclined to leave it alone, to forget what he’d seen, but his loyalty to Jon outweighed any sympathy he may have for this girl. 

“Well firstly, I want to know who you are and what you’re doing here.”

“Those are two separate questions.” 

“You’re quite bold for someone who isn’t allowed to be here,” Sam replied, trying to sound authoritative in spite of the flush that came to his face. He wasn’t very good at this. 

Morg sighed, “Well, my name isn’t Morg.”

“Then what is it?”

“Lila.”

“Lila…?”

“I don’t have a last name,” she responded quietly. “I’m a bastard. Lowborn.” 

“Oh,” Sam replied, feeling more awkward by the minute. “Oh, okay. So you’re...just Lila?”

“Yes. Lila from Bear Island.”

“So how did you get here?”

She studied him for a moment before she replied, “Lady Mormont sent me and instructed me to pretend to be a man.”

Sam cocked an eyebrow, looking at her skeptically, “So Lady Mormont sent you here? As in Jeor Mormont’s sister?”

Lila shrugged, “I guess. I didn’t know milady had a brother.”

“She does. Well, she did,” Sam shook his head, not understanding. “So I’m supposed to believe that the _Lady of Bear Island_ sent you here. To the Wall. And told you to dress like a man?”

“It’s the truth. Up to you if you wanna believe it.”

“Well, if I’m to humour you, for a moment,” Sam shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Say you’re telling the truth - why in the seven hells would she send you _here_?”

The girl paused and looked at him for a long moment before she spoke, “Because I killed someone.”

If Sam wasn’t bewildered before, he certainly was now. 

Perhaps he’d fallen asleep before supper. Mayhaps this was all a dream and he would wake up momentarily. Maybe this would all soon be over and he could ignore Morg the kitchen boy and never, ever speak to him again.

He looked across the room: there was a girl sitting on the bed where Morg should be, her body barely covered. 

Nope. Not a dream. 

“It was self defence,” she said quickly. “He tried to rape me. He was my friend, but he was a mean drunk. I didn’t mean to do it.” She looked down at her hands, seeming to shrink as she did so. Her brave facade had finally cracked and Sam could see the emotion on her face that she was so desperately trying to withhold. 

Sam’s resolve softened then, feeling sympathy for Lila. It was wrong to pretend to be a man and come to the Wall, yes, but he believed her story. He couldn’t say why he did, but he believed her nonetheless. Maybe he was a naive fool, but he had decided a long time ago that he would never toss people aside in the way his father did. He picked up the rickety wooden chair on the other side of the small room and set it a few feet from the bed, praying to the Seven that it wouldn’t give way under his weight as he sat before her. 

“I’ve tried to stay out of everyone’s way,” Lila continued. “I don’t mean any trouble, I’m just here because I had nowhere else to go and Lady Mormont said she’d come for me, someday.”

“Do you know when?”

“No. She said a year, but it could be longer. I don’t really know.”

“I see,” Sam replied. She looked so small, suddenly, despite the fact that she was nearly Sam’s height. 

“Are you going to tell the Lord Commander?” she whispered, avoiding his eyes. 

Sam was silent. He didn’t know how to answer. On the one hand, he felt he had a duty as a Brother and as Jon’s friend to tell him about infractions by Brothers (or Sisters…?) at Castle Black. But on the other hand, this girl was clearly scared, and truthfully, though he wasn’t proud of it, Sam didn’t want her to go because then they would lose her abilities. She was talented. They needed more people to be able to help with health and injuries. 

“No,” Sam said after a while, breaking the tension. “I’m not going to tell Lord Snow.”

Lila looked up at him with a shocked expression, tears springing to the girl’s eyes, “Thank you, Sam, thank you -”

“I have a condition, however.”

Lila instantly hardened, jaw clenching and muscles tensed. Sam could see the slightest throb of a vein in her neck as she strained to contain her emotion. 

“And what might that be?” Lila said curtly. Gods, she was more prone to turning on you than a Flea Bottom alley cat. 

“I’d like if you would leave your kitchen post and come work with Maester Aemon and I.” 

Lila snorted loudly, rolling her eyes, “Don’t think so.” 

“Why not?”

“Because I’m no Maester, Sam,” she looked pointedly at him. “I’m a lowborn bastard woman who knows how to skin and clean animals. That’s about it.”

“That’s obviously untrue,” Sam countered. “You helped Pyp today. I could never do sutures like that. At least, not yet.”

Lila looked at him, quite obviously unimpressed with him, “That’s what happens when you’re always around drunk men who like to beat each other up, as well as their wives. You learn how to help people when you can’t afford to go to the mainland to get help. My skills are nothing special, Sam. They’re necessary.” 

Sam flushed with his chagrin. Though his father was cruel, he had still been brought up in a Lord’s house. Since coming to the Wall, he found himself ignorant to the plight of the common folk on a number of occasions, though he never meant to be. It was easy to forget the hardships that plagued the ordinary people of Westeros when you lived the vast majority of your life with servants and as heir to a Lordship.

“You have a real gift, Lila,” Sam persisted. “I think, as long as you’re here, the men could really benefit from your help.”

“I couldn’t save Davis Snow. What makes you think I can save anyone else?”

Sam tried not to let his face betray his confusion. Davis Snow? What was she talking about? Gods, this conversation was exhausting. 

“I don’t know who Davis Snow is, but what I _do_ know is that you helped Pyp today and there’s a good chance he’d be a lot worse off without your help.”

“Davis Snow was the friend I killed,” Lila said flatly, refusing to look at Sam’s face. “And today was a fluke.”

Sam sighed, “It was not a fluke. It was not! You knew exactly what to do and you gave him a much better chance at a complete recovery. Imagine what you could learn under the direction of someone as knowledgeable as Master Aemon!”

“What, Sam? What would I learn?” Lila’s head snapped up as she looked at him with venom in her gaze. “I can’t read, you know. I can’t write. All I know how to do is kill things and cook and how to not get fucked if I don’t want to be.

“I don’t even care, Sam. Tell the good Lord Snow all about me. Let me be executed or sent back to Bear Island where I’ll be mauled to death by the townsfolk. I just don’t care anymore. I don’t care.” With that, Lila got up off the bed, just barely holding on to her cloak for modesty, and moved to her small trunk to re-dress herself. Sam was baffled by her words; he had never met a woman this outspoken. 

He looked away from her as she dressed, but he didn’t stop his pestering, “I’ll teach you what you’d need to know to study with Aemon. I’ll teach you how to read, and to write. 

“And I could keep your secret safe,” he continued, still looking in the opposite direction of her body. “You could have an ally while you wait for the Mormonts. Think about all the knowledge you could take to the people, wherever you end up!”

Lila had finished dressing but stopped her tidying at Sam’s words. Hearing her hesitation, Sam turned back to look at her expectantly. 

“You would teach me?” Lila said, her voice coated in suspicion. 

“Yes,” replied Sam. “I will teach you as much as I can.”

“And you won’t go blabbing?”

Sam suppressed a chuckle, “No, I won’t tell anyone.”

“And I won’t have to be around the other men?”

“Only to help us treat them.”

She stared at him for what felt like an eternity. It seemed to Sam to be a fairly easy decision to make. As far as she knew, her two options were: to stay in the kitchen and risk Sam telling the Lord Commander; or, to join him and Maester Aemon and learn to read and write while keeping her secret safe. Of course, Sam had no intention of outing her either way; he just didn’t have the heart to take the girl’s safety from her. But she didn’t need to know that. 

“I’ll think about it,” Lila said quietly. 

“Okay. I’ll come back tomorrow,” Sam turned to leave, stooping to clean up the plate of food that had fallen to the floor. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Lila said as she moved to take over the cleaning from Sam. She looked perplexed to see him squatting and picking up dirty food. 

“It’s really fine,” Sam replied. Together they cleaned up the last of mess and Sam insisted on carrying it out to the kitchen to throw it away. Astonished, Lila simply blinked at him.

Sam had stepped into the hallway as she said, in a voice as quiet as a field mouse, “Thank you, Sam.”

He turned his head to smile at her in response, “You’re welcome, Morg.” 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The following day when Maester Aemon had gone to take his afternoon nap, Sam took the opportunity to head down to the kitchens. 

He prayed to the old gods and the new that she would agree to come study with him. He had checked on Pyp’s wound earlier that day and had been shocked at how _good_ it looked, if such a thing could be said about a wound. It was neat and tidy and the redness, though still very much present, was beginning to subside. He needed to observe her technique and to see what other folksy healing secrets she knew. 

As he walked through the empty Shieldhall with a salve for Lila’s water burns in hand, a nervous feeling began to bubble in Sam’s chest. It suddenly occurred to him that if she accepted, he would be harbouring a huge secret from not only his Lord Commander, but also his best friend. It made him uneasy, thinking about lying to Jon. He supposed it wasn’t _lying_ , not truly, but it _was_ omitting a rather significant truth. He decided that if Jon were in his position, he would do the same: protect the secret for the greater good. 

Because it was the greater good. Lila would remain safe and Castle Black would have another capable hand to help them should the Wildings get out of hand again. It was the right decision. He felt it in his bones. 

It was remarkable how much a short haircut and her Night’s Watch garb hid her identity. She didn’t make a particularly masculine man, but her disguise blurred the line just enough that no one would question it. It also helped that she rarely looked people in the eye and purposely rubbed dirt on her face to hide the fact that she could not grow any facial hair. Sam had to admit, it was really rather clever to send her here under this ruse.

She looked up when she heard him approaching, her face betraying no emotion and no inclination as to what her decision was going to be. 

“Good day, Morg,” Sam began for the benefit of the cooks. “Maester Aemon bid me to bring you this salve for the burns on your hands.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Lila replied, turning to ask the cooks for leave to go to her chambers to apply it away from the food. 

“Aye,” one of them responded. “But don’t be too long.” 

Lila nodded her head to indicate that Sam should follow her and headed back toward her chambers. He obeyed, thinking to himself that the hallway seemed darker and dingier than it had the day before. He could have sworn the ceilings had been higher yesterday, too. 

When they reached Lila’s room, Sam quickly followed her in and stood to the side as she looked in the hallway for stragglers and closed the door behind them. 

Sam didn’t have a chance to ask what she’d decided before she began to speak, “I thought about your offer.” 

Sam nodded, willing his face to not look too hopeful, “And have you come to a decision?”

She nodded, “Yes, I have.”

“And?”

The girl took a deep breath as she said, “I’ll take you up on your offer. But I have a few conditions of my own.” 

Sam froze, not knowing what to expect. 

“Conditions? What sort of conditions?”

“Well,” Lila began. “The first condition is that you teach me history, too. And maybe more math than I know now. I don’t know how to read or write and I never left Bear Island ‘til Dacey Mormont brought me over to the mainland on a boat. And I don’t want to seem stupid to Maester Aemon.”

A small amount of relief washed over Sam as he replied, “That’s doable.”

“Two, I get to move up into the tower, where you sleep. This room is dark and cold and I’m used to that but if I’m gonna be learnin’ and teaching I want a better place to sleep.”

“Of course, I’d expect nothing less,” Sam returned. This was shaping up to be much easier than he’d anticipated. 

“And three..” Lila trailed off. 

“Yes? What’s number three?”

Lila looked him dead in the eye and took another deep breath as she said, “The third condition is that I do not ever, ever, _ever_ want to _ever_ talk to Lord Commander Snow.”

Sam was confused, but accepted her terms nonetheless, “I can try to arrange that. I can’t guarantee that you’ll never have to speak to him, but I’ll do my best. Does that sound fair?”

Lila was quiet for a moment and then said, “Okay. Deal.”

Sam smiled widely, “Excellent! You’ve made a wonderful decision, Lila.”

Lila nodded in response, her face grim despite being engaged in what Sam considered to be a positively lovely conversation. 

“Can I ask you why?” Sam said. 

“Why what?” Lila replied. 

“Why you don’t want to talk to Jon. I understand the first two conditions, but I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to talk to the Lord Commander. He’s really very nice, beyond his somber exterior.”

“I just don’t want to,” Lila mumbled, turning her attention to packing her things. 

“There has to be a reason,” Sam countered. He was curious. 

“There’s not.”

“Are you sure? I mean, you don’t even know him -”

“I know enough,” Lila snapped. “Now, are you going to help me pack these things and let me finish my last day down here, or are you just going to sit there gaping and blubbering like a puffer fish?”

While he might’ve been offended at her remark, Sam just smiled, “I’ll help. And then I’ll go tell Maester Aemon and Lord Snow about our arrangement.” 

“Good,” she replied. “Get to it, then.”

Sam smiled, “Are you going to be like this when you’re teaching me things? Or when I'm trying to teach _you_?”

Lila smiled one of her rare toothy grins as she replied, “Put it this way. If I were you, I’d start getting used to it.” With that, she turned on her heels and took to packing her life away once again into a tiny leather trunk.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lila adjusts to life out of the kitchens, and her new duties lead to an unexpected meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all! 
> 
> I'm messing with the timeline a bit for the sake of plot. Jon remains Lord Commander for longer than he does in canon, and obviously the manner of his leaving will also be quite a bit different. The Baratheon clan is not a large aspect of the plot, either. Keep that in mind as you read. :)

### LILA

Lila found that life became exponentially more tolerable upon moving “up” to the small keep below the Rookery. 

She had laughed at herself when she realized that her new quarters would not be “up” as much as “out of the dingy halls of the kitchen quarters.” She was up off the ground, certainly, but for some silly reason she had imagined that Maester Aemon and Sam had lived almost in the rookery with the ravens. She smiled, thinking back on her naivety in the way one might think about the loveable antics of a child. 

In a way, Lila supposed she was still a child. She was a woman grown and flowered, but she was still only five and ten. Or was she six and ten, now? She couldn’t remember if her name day had yet come and gone, but she’d been at Castle Black for nearly nine months, so she supposed she must have turned another year older somewhat recently. 

She had learned the logic of name days and years and the measurement of time during her studies with Sam. Being lowborn, and a bastard on top of that, Lila had never had the opportunity to get any kind of education. That was reserved for people with money, and if the poor did ever have an opportunity to be educated, the trueborn and the boys always had the first opportunity. She could also read now, and write, and was getting better by the day. Sam had been so kind and understanding and she had never once felt stupid - a fact for which she was extremely grateful. 

Despite Lila’s rigid, willful resistance, she and Sam had become great friends. She had hated it at first. He was always _asking_ her things about herself, always offering an optimistic opinion when she would make a cynical comment. In return he had offered his secrets to her, as well, though she had never asked for them. He told her about his father, and about how his mother hadn’t known the extent of his father’s cruelty, and he reluctantly told her about Gilly, as well, and how he had _feelings_ for her. Lila thought that the Night’s Watch rules about not having sex or not taking a wife were absurd and stupid, and she told Sam so every time Gilly came up in conversation. If she’d been bold before, she was very nearly insolent, now. 

Lila felt compassion for the wilding girl, but she also felt a twinge of resentment at times. Gilly was a woman, too, and she was allowed to be here without having to put on a ridiculous outfit and then pretend to be a man. Sam had explained to her time and time again that the circumstances were different: Lila needed to be able to stay here indefinitely, and Gilly’s womanhood, and the fact that she had a tiny babe, meant she would be leaving Castle Black in the not-too-distant future. There was also the fact that Lila had come here under the pretense of being a man; it wouldn’t go over well to reveal herself now, after all this time. 

So, she resigned herself to having to put on a show around everyone but Sam. Some days, while Maester Aemon was teaching them and she knew they wouldn’t see anyone else, Lila could even go without that gods-awful leather binding. Sam knew she was a woman, and it wasn’t as if Maester Aemon could see her breasts, so she went without her contraption and her heavy layers of clothing. Those were the best days, the days when she felt a little bit more like herself. She found she was taking to breeches, though, and didn’t mind wearing them at all. Moving was much easier when your legs were not encumbered by layers of skirts. 

She felt better in some ways, but in other ways, she felt worse. She felt empty, somehow, as if there was a gaping hole in her chest that she hadn’t the slightest idea how to fill. Perhaps it was the feeling of not belonging anywhere, or maybe it was grief for the life she may have had. 

If Lila was being honest with herself, her life on Bear Island likely wouldn’t have become much, even if she hadn’t killed Davis. If all had gone according to plan, she probably would have married another lowborn bastard and lost her job at the Inn. She might even have a child by now, who she would struggle to care for since they would have had very little money. Bear Island was a very, very poor place, and they would have been constantly on edge, waiting for the next attack from the Iron Islands. She certainly would not have had the opportunity to learn to read and write and even learn other languages, and she also never would have learned about potions and herbs and more sophisticated healing methods. 

It had worked out for the best. At least, that’s what she told herself when she felt the gloom beginning to wash over her. Some days, in the rookery, she would look down and wonder what it would be like to just...tip over the edge and fall to her death. She often thought it would be easier that way, that she’d be less of a burden to all of those around her and she could avoid the inevitable pain her future would bring. 

She would shake her head on those occasions, willing the motion to rid her mind of those awful thoughts. She was a strong, resilient woman of the north; she could do this. She could make something of herself. She also never dared tell Sam about her curiosities for fear that he’d think her to be going mad. The last thing she needed was to push away her only friend. 

*************************************************************************************

 

There had been some wilding attacks, still, despite Lord Snow’s efforts to unite the Watch and the Free Folk against their common enemy. The free folk who had decided not to join Mance’s cause were angry and defensive, and men were coming back from rangings injured and ill more and more frequently. It turned out that Sam and Maester Aemon hadn’t been exaggerating when they said they needed all the help they could get. 

Mostly, things were amicable between the two groups, but the extra bodies were quite clearly taking their toll on the resources at Castle Black. Lila thanked the Gods on a daily basis that she no longer worked in the kitchens. She could only imagine how irritable the cooks were these days. 

She herself was rather irritable, come to think of it. She found herself isolating even more than usual, if that was possible, and she felt a deep, burning resentment for the wilding women. She knew that Sam was right about why she had to remain in disguise, but she was just so angry that they got to be themselves and she had to pretend. 

She especially hated Val, but she knew it was utterly irrational to feel such a deep dislike for the other woman. When she would see Val around the Lord Commander, however, she couldn’t help but seeth with a nearly uncontrollable fury. It didn’t make any sense whatsoever; she had barely even spoken to Lord Snow, had never been alone with him, and, of course, _he thought she was a man_. Still, her feelings got the better of her. Another unfortunate consequence of being a bastard, she supposed. 

Some days, when she felt particularly angry or lonely, she wished that Lady Mormont had just sent her south to become a whore. At least then she’d get to be a woman. 

In that regard, she feared that the Mormont’s promises had all been lip service. She hadn’t even heard a whisper of Lady Mormont, save for the occasional piece of news regarding the war in the south. She knew that Lord Snow’s brother was now the “King in the North,” that he’d married some Frey girl, and that they were marching on Winterfell to reclaim the castle. She’d also heard that Dacey was leading the Mormont men in King Robb’s host, and Lila silently said a prayer every day for the older girl. Lila didn’t particularly care at all about the politics of the war, but it was important to her to try to protect the Mormonts in her own small way, and it was impossible not to know some of the details when you received and sent the ravens. 

She’d been up in the rookery tending to the birds when she heard the commotion below in the training yard. Another practice had gotten out of hand, it seemed, and Lila rolled her eyes dramatically; they always seemed to get into fights over the silliest things. She could hear the animals as well, the ones that had come through the gate with the Free Folk, and they, too, seemed agitated.

In the next moment, however, Lila realized that it wasn’t a fight at all, but shouts of surprise. There’d been a blow of the horn, she remembered vaguely, and the gate beneath the Wall was opening. Lila frowned; there weren’t meant to be any rangers beyond the Wall at this time. Who in the hells could be coming through the gate? 

She reached her head out through the opening in the wall, trying to get a good look at the activity below. Not being able to see anything, she leaned out a bit farther, but still she could not see the people coming through the gate. Frustrated, Lila swung a leg out over the ledge of the window, leaning deeply to the left to see what was happening. The ledge jutted out over the stone of the tower wall, so Lila hung on to one of the stones for balance. 

What she didn’t know was that the stone was loose. 

Before she knew what was happening, Lila tipped out of the window, arms flailing to try to regain her balance, to no avail. Before she could fall head first, her hands flew up wildly, reaching for the ledge. Grabbing hold of one of the stones, she twisted over herself, shoulder screaming at the awkward angle it had been placed in. She tried desperately to find foot holdings with the intent of climbing back in through the window, but the stone was smooth and any crevices were frozen solid with ice. 

Her fingers were throbbing from their pleading grip on the ledge, not to mention the cold, and Lila was frustrated that she hadn’t worn gloves to tend the ravens today. She cursed herself as well for all of her terrible thoughts about jumping from the rookery; be careful what you wish for, indeed. 

Her fingertips were steadily becoming more numb by the second, it seemed, and she didn’t know how much longer she could hold herself up. 

“Oi! Someone’s falling from the rookery!” came a voice from the ground. 

“MORG!” she heard another voice call. Sam, perhaps? 

Using all of the strength she could muster, Lila tried one last time to lift herself back up into the rookery, but her fingers had gone completely numb and had released their grip on the ledge. 

Lila was falling. 

She tried to hug the tower as she fell, to slow herself down, but it did little to stop the fall. Hitting her head on a wooden spoke, she couldn’t see anything as she fell towards the roof of the Maester’s quarters. 

She landed on the roof, and was eerily still. 

Below, a snow bear roared. 

************************************************************************************************

 

“It hurts, Sam,” she whimpered through gritted teeth. Besides the obvious burning and pain from the wound, there was a sharp pain in her side every time she took in a breath. A broken rib, maybe? She couldn’t assess herself; the pain was too great and giving her a brain fog like she’d never experienced before. 

“I know,” Sam replied quietly as he began to take off her many layers of clothing. “I know it does.”

“Why does it hurt so bad?”

“Because you fell, from a really high place,” he replied calmly, hands working diligently. “It’s going to hurt for a while. But, Lila?”

“Yeah?” 

“I need you stay put for a moment while I go fetch Maester Aemon. Will you do that?”

She used all of the energy she could muster to give him a side-eye, unamused as she said, “Where would I go, Sam? I’m a bit tied up at the moment.”

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her, “I just mean, don’t try to do any of this yourself. Just stay awake and wait. Okay?”

“Fine,” she replied, thoroughly unimpressed with the situation. She just needed someone to sew her up and let her rest. She was going to be fine. 

It felt like an eternity before Sam returned, followed by Maester Aemon, and behind them came Gilly. 

_Gilly?_

The wilding girl’s eyes widened as she took in the sight of Lila laying half naked, bruised, and broken on the bed. 

“You’re a woman?” Gilly gasped, throwing her hand over her mouth when she realized that she’d said it aloud. 

“I used to be,” Lila japed, smirking slightly. 

Maester Aemon’s face was even stiller than usual but his face showed no signs of shock or surprise. Could he have known all along? Lila thought that perhaps Sam may have told him, in the beginning. It didn’t matter now. 

“Gilly, get a large bowl of warm water and clean towels,” Sam instructed, turning his attention back to Lila. “Maester, her side is badly bruised. It’s already nearly black and it’s barely had time to form.” 

“Is there an open wound?” Maester Aemon’s quiet, lilting voice was steady and relaxed, and Lila found it comforting. She closed her eyes, focusing on the sounds she could hear around her: Maester Aemon’s voice; the soft lop of the water in the basin that Gilly had retrieved; the sound of the Free Folk trying to calm the bears. 

“The gash is not deep, the one on her forehead even less so,” she could hear Sam say from what seemed like a very far away place. “I’m more concerned about internal damage from the fall. I think she also may have hit her head on the way down.”

“Yes, that is worrisome,” Maester Aemon agreed. 

“How can you know how much damaged there is?” Gilly asked quietly. 

Sam’s face was grim, “We can’t. We can only wait to see if she worsens.” Gilly nodded solemnly in response. She was a tough little thing, but she knew how fond Sam was of Morg - no, Lila - and she worried for him in spite of herself. 

_Perhaps it will finally be over,_ Lila thought. _That would be better, wouldn’t it? Better than this bleak, uninspired existence? I’m only sorry for the things I never got to do._

She was so tired. She could feel the tempting lull of sleep washing over her, and her cot had never felt so comfortable. If she dozed off for just a moment, she could be free of her pain, just for a little while. There was no harm in that, surely? Feeling strangely peaceful, she let her mind rock her to sleep. 

One moment, she could feel Sam’s palms on her cheeks and hear a chorus of, “Lila! Lila! Stay awake!” 

In the next moment, she was outside the walls of Castle Black, a blind, red rage within her. Men were coming toward her with sharpened swords and spears, yelling curses and throwing ropes in her direction. She roared, a deep and ghastly sound, but still the men pursued her. She walked backward, feeling trapped, momentous snarls coming from her mouth. She ripped the ropes from the men’s hands and lept gracefully from the spears they threw. She was scared, but more than anything, she was _angry_. 

There were too many of them for her to fend off on her own. When she would focus her attention on one or two, she could feel the sting of blades on the other side of her body. She couldn’t take on this many men, even if she was four times the size of one of them. 

The ground came up to meet her then as she felt a fierce pain in her back. She roared in agony, stumbling forward until she tripped over her own feet and had no choice but to lay down in the snow. She could feel the men tying her feet together. She thrashed wildly, trying desperately to get away from them, but in the next instant she was pinned by several of them, one standing on her injured shoulder with a spear in his hands, positioned above her heart. She closed her eyes and laid her head down in defeat as he moved his arms up to gain momentum, preparing to stab her in the chest. 

“STOP!” she heard a voice command. She felt the men hesitate, and she took the opportunity to shake wildly, throwing the unassuming men from her and onto their backs. She couldn’t stand up, but she wriggled madly to put as much distance between herself and the men as possible. 

“You will not harm that bear,” she heard the voice say. 

“But Lord Snow, it was wildly thrashing and angry! We thought t’would kill us!”

“You will not harm that bear!” the man they called Lord Snow said again. “These bears came through the gate with the Free Folk, and as such, the Free Folk are responsible for them. Not you, not I, nor any other brother.”

“So we’re just s’posed to let these great hairy beasts eat us when they get mad? Let them kill us all?”

“It will not come to that,” the Lord Commander said evenly. 

“If I may say, Lord Snow,” one of the wild men said, “I believe the bear was hurting. I don’t believe it had any bad intentions.” 

“And how would you know that?” one of the attackers snapped. 

“Because I’m a skinchanger, and animals know each other much better than we know them. They are far less ignorant.” 

An uncomfortable silence followed the man’s statement, but there was no more arguing. 

She felt a man approaching again, but she did not feel threatened. She was weak, though, so weak, and she didn’t have the strength to even lift her head to see who it was that came to her. 

“Tend to this creature you’ve injured,” the man said as he hovered over her. “It’s the least you can do.”

She was wary of the man as he loomed over her, trying to look her in the eye, and was even more apprehensive when a great white direwolf appeared next to him. Sensing he would not leave, she reluctantly looked the man in the eye, startled to see flecks of purple in the grey irises that stared intensely at her. 

_What’s going on? What is happening? I don’t want to be here! Stop! Stop looking at me! STOP!_

“Lila!” Sam yelled. 

Her eyes sprang open as she gasped dramatically, wincing at the shooting pain in her side with the sharp intake of breath. There was a burning feeling in her forehead, both inside her head and out. She realized that she was back in her cot. In fact, she hadn’t left. What in the name of the gods had happened? What kind of dream was _that_?

“Sam?” she croaked, confused and exhausted. 

“Lila, don’t move, okay? We’re trying to stitch the cut on your forehead.”

“Okay,” Lila said compliantly. She felt as if she were still dreaming. 

There were voices in the hall outside the door, but they barely registered with Lila. They drew closer and closer until she could hear the footsteps that accompanied them. Outside the door, she could hear the men approaching her room. She closed her eyes once more; she didn’t give a damn who it was. 

She laid there, unable to move even if she wanted to, and didn’t even flinch when a knock came on the door and the hinges began to swing. 

“What...is this?” a vaguely familiar voice said. 

“Gods,” Sam said breathlessly. “I’m so sorry, Jon. I can explain...” 

Jon? Jon who? _Did we get new recruits?_

Lila’s eyes flew open when she realized exactly who Sam meant. She turned her head just slightly toward the door, and upon doing so, made direct eye contact with the same grey eyes she’d seen in her dream. 

The Lord Commander.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon speculates about what he's learned about Lila, while Lila has a hard time coming to terms with the same information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've taken so long to update! 
> 
> This chapter is not "filler," per say, but nothing as big as the last chapter. It is, however, important to the story's development, so I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> I really appreciate comments and kudos; it means an awful lot to me. So, thanks. <3

###  JON

Three days had passed since she’d been properly awake. Sam had explained to Jon that not only was her body healing itself better while she slept, but it would also likely be agonizing for her to be conscious with such extensive injuries. So, on the occasions when she did wake, Sam or Maester Aemon would hurriedly run to her side with more milk of the poppy to dull the pain and allow her to continue to rest. Jon checked in on her two or three times a day; to check on her wellbeing, yes, but also to see if it was yet possible to get some answers. 

He’d known there was something peculiar about Morg, because if there hadn’t been, Maege Mormont would not have sent the young recruit with so many caveats and instructions. She’d written to him nearly nine or ten moons past, demanding that her ward be welcomed at Castle Black and given plenty of privacy. Of course he found that strange, but who was he to question Jeor Mormont’s sister? He owed a great deal to that man, and since he could no longer pay his debt to the man himself, he had resigned himself to owing it to Jeor’s family. 

He hadn’t asked questions because he trusted Lady Mormont’s judgement, and at this point, he couldn’t decide if he was more impressed that the girl had kept her secret for so long or more mortified that he hadn’t noticed. 

His embarrassment was two-fold. Firstly, it seemed an incredulous thing, to have been in the presence of this person, who was very clearly a woman, for close on a year without realizing the truth. He ought to have a better nose for trouble; he was the Lord Commander now, after all. 

Secondly, he was upset with himself in that he had gone so long without really speaking to her. If he had paid any attention to her at all, he would’ve noticed her obvious femininity, but evidently he hadn’t been satisfactorily doing his job. There were too many people at Castle Black to know everyone intimately, but he should have had a much better idea of who was under his employ. 

To be sure, there had been a lot on his mind. He knew he wasn’t supposed to feel any loyalty toward his family, but it was difficult to distance himself from his loyalty to and love for Robb. The King in the North, as he was now dubbed, had landed at Winterfell, the last Jon had heard, and a quiet voice in the back of Jon’s mind continuously berated him for not being there with him, rebuilding the castle. Rebuilding his home. 

No, not home. The Wall was his home now. He told himself that nearly every day, but it had been a hell of a lot easier to believe it before he began to lose everyone he’d ever cared for. 

Though he would never tell anyone, the Lord Commander missed home terribly. He often wondered what would have happened had he never joined the Watch, if he had listened to his Uncle Benjen all those moons ago. Would he be fighting at Robb’s side now? Would Bran and Rickon still be alive? 

His thoughts made him restless, not only for the fact that he’d never know the answers to his questions, but also because he was utterly helpless in doing anything about any of it. He was not only a Brother of the Night’s Watch now, but their leader, which came with another influx of responsibilities, none of which Jon particularly wanted. It felt good to have a purpose and a place, but Jon had never wanted to play any part in the political mind games of the South. 

But he was in it now, despite his best efforts. He was trying to remain impartial to the best of his ability, but the fact of the matter was that the threat Beyond the Wall became more dangerous by the day, the Watch’s numbers were not strong enough, and with the Wildings south of the Wall, food was becoming troublingly scarce. He had to play the game; their collective survival depended on it. 

If roles had been reversed, and Jon was offering counsel to anyone else, he would’ve said that it was certainly forgivable to miss that a woman was unknowingly living among them. Of course, Jon was never one to take his own advice. It left him troubled to know the glaringly obvious truth that he’d missed. 

There was also the issue of the warging, which further complicated matters. Jon was sure that it had been her, Lila, that he’d made eye contact with when he approached the snow bear. Bears were intelligent, fierce animals, but the defeated look in the animal’s eyes could only have been human. Beyond his wilding counterparts, Jon had never met anyone who could warg, or at least, who knew that they could. It was fascinating to him, not only because her abilities were further evidence that magic hadn’t been erased from this world, but also because there was another person with whom he could relate. 

He could’ve easily waited for Sam to tell him that she was awake. In fact, that was likely what he should’ve decided to do, but something kept him in that room. Maybe it was guilt because he saw so much of Arya in the girl. The entire situation was exactly something that Arya would have done, had she needed to. Or, maybe it was a perverse sense of excitement about having another skinchanger in his midst. Whatever it was, Jon made the trip to the girl’s chambers several times a day without fail, compelled to ensure that she was well. 

To look at her, there wasn't much mystical about her. She was beautiful, certainly, with her nearly black hair and eyes the colour of a brilliant jade stone, but darker, almost the colour of a bloodstone. She was likely much more beautiful when she wasn't broken and purposefully making herself uncomely. But beyond her beauty, she looked like a normal girl. 

There was an aura about her, though, something Jon couldn't quite put his finger on. Even Sam had said so, that there was more to the girl than even she knew. Jon was inclined to believe him. The fall from the rookery should have killed her, but yet here she was, laying before them, breathing steadily, getting stronger by the hour. 

 

*******************************************************************************************************************************************************

###  LILA

Her head hurt, her side hurt, and her throat hurt, but she was too groggy to be frustrated. She could feel the presence of another living being sitting close by. 

“Water,” she said to whoever was in the room with her. 

A cup of water appeared before her, and she took it, needing both hands to hold it up. She sipped eagerly; the water tasted like the most luxurious wine she’d ever had. When she was done, she passed the cup back to her guest, brushing her hand against theirs in the process. 

Her eyes widened as she realized that those hands did not belong to Sam, Maester Aemon, nor Gilly: they belonged to Jon Snow. 

Gods, she had really done it this time, hadn’t she? It wasn’t enough to get caught. No, of course it wasn’t. Lila had to have her secret discovered in the most spectacular way possible. She’d made a bloody great mess of herself and it only got messier as time went on. On the other hand, she wasn’t sure why she was surprised; her life had become a series of bloody great messes, one right after the other. 

She sighed as she closed her eyes tightly, trying to prepare herself for the conversation that was about to take place. There was no world in which this ended well for her. 

_To Hells with Maege Mormont and her schemes_ , Lila thought bitterly. 

“Where’s Sam?” she croaked out. It wasn’t a proper greeting to the Lord Commander by any stretch of the imagination, but she didn’t want to be alone while she had this conversation with Lord Snow. She’d heard all about Stark honour, but in Lila’s experience, most human beings could not be trusted, no matter the supposed “honour” of their line. She trusted him about as far as she could throw him.

“He and Aemon are writing letters at the moment,” the velvet voice replied. “He should be back in an hour or so.”

“Oh,” was all Lila said in response. The less she had to talk to him, the better. 

“How are you feeling?” the Lord Commander pressed on. 

“Like I fell out of a tower.”

He smiled ever so slightly, “Yes, I imagine you do feel that way.”

“How long have I been sleeping?”

“Almost four days,” he replied. “Sam said it was best to keep you sleeping as long as possible, to manage the pain.”

“He was right,” she said, grimacing as she tried to pull herself up to a semi-sitting position. 

“Here, let me help you,” he said, getting up to help her arrange the pillows. 

“I’m fine,” she said abruptly, more quickly than she had intended. His eyes searched her face and it was clear to Lila that he had picked up on her discomfort - the discomfort that had nothing to do with her injuries. 

“Very well,” he said, sitting back down on his chair with a concerned look on his face. Lila didn’t put much stock in his expression, though: he nearly always looked like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. He was rather dramatic, from what she had seen.

An awkward silence followed the exchange. Lila refused to be the one to break it. She would’ve been positively tickled if he’d just leave her alone. 

“It would seem the we have much to discuss,” Lord Snow said evenly, gaze fixed on her expression.

“Do we?” Lila knew she was pushing her luck, but she’d come to learn a very important fact about herself during her time at the Wall: most of the time, she simply did not care. About anything. 

“Yes, I believe we do.” 

“What about, mi’Lord?

He looked at her incredulously, as if he couldn’t tell if she was making a jape or if she truly didn’t know what the issue was. 

“Well, several things, I suppose, but I think we should begin with the matter of your disguise.”

“Ah, that,” Lila replied, enjoying her game. “Well, as you have seen, I am not a man named Morg.”

“Yes, I learned that. You are a woman named Lila."

"Indeed."

 

" Lila who, if I may ask?”

Lila’s cheeks flushed in spite of herself, “I’ve no surname, mi’Lord. I’m a bastard, lowborn.” 

His eyebrows raised at that revelation, but otherwise he maintained his composure, “Ah, I see.”

“Mhmm.”

“Well, that’s no matter,” he persisted. “I’m a bastard, too. It means nothing North of the Gift.” 

The corners of her lips turned upward ever so slightly, “Aye, I’ve heard that.”

“Sam explained some of your circumstance,” he continued. He was shockingly good at talking to a scared girl. Lila remembered hearing that he’d had sisters when he was Jon Snow, Bastard of Winterfell; perhaps that’s when he learned to be kind. 

“How much did he tell you?” she asked warily. 

“Not everything, but enough,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I know that you killed a man in self-defense, and that Lady Mormont saw fit to send you here, though I’m still puzzled as to how she could have come to that conclusion.”

Lila smiled a sad smile, “Bear Island is a small place, mi’Lord. Everyone knew what I’d done. I would’ve been beaten to death if the Mormonts had let me go.”

“Yes, I suspected that,” he replied. “Though I still wonder, why the Wall, of all places?”

“Well, I’ve no family anywhere in Westeros, and the only other place I could’ve gone was King’s Landing, to be a whore. But I wasn’t exactly jumping for joy at that idea.” She smiled in ernest then; a wry smile, but a smile all the same. He was just so gods-damned handsome, she couldn't help herself. 

“No, I don’t suppose you were,” he said. “So when you realized you couldn’t go anywhere else, you suggested to Lady Mormont that you go further North?”

Lila shook her head, “No, mi’Lord. It was Lady Mormont that had the idea for me to come here. Dacey and Alysane and even Lyanna weren’t keen on it but Lady Mormont doesn’t listen much to...well...anyone.”

Lord Snow laughed aloud, “You’re right about that. Our friend the She-Bear doesn’t take kindly to advice.” 

“No, she does not.”

He sighed, “I understand the reasoning, and I know you were instructed to keep this information to yourself, but you must understand that this is not a good thing. Right?”

Lila nodded weakly, “Aye, I know. But _you_ must be able to see that I didn’t have much choice. It was this or work in a Southern whore house.” She wasn't sure when she had gotten so bold. Perhaps it was the murder, or maybe it was the near death experience. 

Lord Snow grimaced slightly, “I see that.”

“So...what will you have me do, mi’lord?”

“Please, you can call me Jon,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I’ll confess, I don’t know how to proceed in this matter. It seems wrong to keep you here under false pretenses, but I’m not particularly keen on the idea of sending a woman out into the Northern wild on her own.” 

Something snapped inside of Lila’s vulnerable mind, but whether it was from the fever or the reality of her near death experience, she couldn’t tell. Regardless of the reason, Lila seemed unable to help taking leave of her senses. 

Lila rolled her eyes rather dramatically, “If my being a woman is the only reason you’d let me stay, mi’lord, I’ll be on my way as soon as I’m strong enough to go. You’ve no idea what I’ve been through, what I’ve seen, and I won’t take your pity. I’m just as capable as any man here, when it comes to surviving.” She turned her head away from him to look out the small window, too weak to even cross her arms. Ideally she would have stormed away, but her damned body was too broken for that. 

The Lord Commander looked shocked, briefly, and then he smirked. 

He _smirked_. 

“Oh, you think I’m funny, then?” Lila said, fuming, turning back to glare at him with a scowl. She had no idea where this attitude was coming from, but she didn’t fight it. Perhaps she was finally going mad. 

“Not..funny, exactly,” he said calmly. “You just reminded me of my youngest sister; well, half sister. I’m sure she would’ve reacted much the same way, had I said that to her. I could be, and perhaps should be, angry with you for speaking to me that way, but I find that I don’t truly care much at all.”

Lila blushed in spite of herself, turning her head back again to prevent him from seeing. Gods be damned, why was he so handsome? Handsome, and off limits, and, as she had just recently discovered, _infuriating_. To think that less than an hour ago she’d been terrified of him. She nearly burst into a fit of laughter just thinking about it. 

“Well I’m glad I could amuse you,” she retorted. He smiled weakly at her in response, an awkward and heavy silence filling the room. 

“We can discuss what to do about that once you’re feeling well again,” he said, trepidation in his voice. “But there was something else I wanted to ask you about. About your fall.”

She looked at him with confusion and suspiciom in her eyes, “Something else?”

“Aye. It’s a bit...strange to talk about it with a virtual stranger, but I have to ask you about it.”

“Okay, get on with it, then,” Lila said, terrified. 

Lord Snow sighed, “On the day you fell, when Sam was treating you, initially, after some of the men had brought you up to your chambers, something...curious happened in the yard.” 

“Go on…” Lila replied, trying to sound at least a bit like she knew where this was going. 

“It involved a bear.”

“Oh,” Lila said. An uncomfortable feeling began to bubble in her abdomen. She’d dreamt about a bear, and seen him in the dream. Could he somehow know that she’d dreamed about him? Her face began to flush at the thought. 

“The bear was very upset, seemingly for no reason. I approached it, and, well...there was a look in its eyes that I’ve only ever seen once before. Beyond the Wall.” 

Lila’s blood ran cold. She’d only ever heard terrible, horrendous things about life beyond the wall. If he was discussing this matter with her, then he thought that it pertained to her, and a lump took root in her throat as her mind raced with the possibilities. 

“If I’ve done something to offend you, mi’lord, I’m very sorry - ”

He shook his head, cutting her off, “No, you didn’t do anything. It’s not like that. It’s...a delicate subject, Lila, but the only other time I’ve seen that look in an animal’s eyes is when it was, well, connected to a human.”

Lila’s brow furrowed; she still didn’t understand. “Connected, mi’lord?” Lord Snow sighed, putting his face in his hands. 

“I - I don’t want to offend you or frighten you, Lila, but...skinchangers are real. I’ve seen it happen with my own eyes, when I was beyond the Wall. And the only time I’ve seen that look in an animal’s eyes is when the animal and a skinchanger are connected.”

Lila blanched, unsure of what to say. 

“And...you think that the bear had something to do with me?”

“Well, I wanted to ask you about it,” he said carefully. “Because it seemed like the Snow Bear became agitated and upset the moment you got hurt.” 

Lila’s face had lost all its colour. She was utterly terrified as she began to put the pieces together. She hadn’t had a dream about the bear, after all; she had _been_ the bear. 

“I...don’t understand,” she said quietly, though deep down she knew she did. Knowing something and accepting it, however, were two very different things. 

“I wanted to ask you if you’d had any sort of knowledge about what happened with the bear, or a strange dream, perhaps.”

“How do you know?” she whispered, eyes wide and frightened. Her mouth became drier by the second. He looked at her for a moment, as if he was unsure of how he should answer. 

“Well,” he began, taking a deep breath. “I don’t really tell anyone this, but I know because it happens to me, as well. With Ghost.”

The whole room began to spin and Lila closed her eyes, willing it to stop. She had to be dreaming. That, or this was someone’s idea of a cruel, twisted joke. 

She clutched the ragged furs on her bed, desperately trying to grab on to something to stop the spinning. Her heart raced uncontrollably as a hundred tormenting memories passed through her mind, over and over again: Davis Snow pinning her and ripping her smallclothes; Davis’ body as it bled out, spasming as he died; the look on Morg’s face as Lady Mormont’s men led her away; staring at herself in the looking glass when she was drenched in a man’s blood; the exhausting vigilance of keeping her secret; the sheer terror she felt as Sam saw her feminine, naked body; the feeling of falling into nothingness; the heartbreaking defeat of a bear overtaken by a man. 

“Are you alright?” Lord Snow’s voice broke through the tortuous carousel of memories. 

“Get out,” Lila replied, her voice barely a whisper. 

“Pardon me?” Jon replied, incredulous. 

Lila’s eyes were still glued shut as she said, “With all due respect, mi’lord, I’d like to be alone.” 

“Lila, I didn’t mean to upset you -”

“Please leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry -”

“ _LEAVE!_ ” she shouted, her body suddenly racked with sobs, tears that had been pent up for nearly a year flowing freely down her face. She shuddered as she cried, too wound up to be embarrassed by her outward expression of emotion. Each breath was a gasp, her body pleading urgently for more air. Her hands shook violently as she grabbed at the furs under her hands. 

Jon sat in his chair, frozen: he had never seen anything like it before. His state of shock was broken only by the sound of a roaring bear outside the window.


	7. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sam discuss what to do about Lila; Maege Mormont gets some news.

###  **JON**

“I’ve never seen anything like it, Sam. What in the hells was that?” Jon sat across from Sam in his solar, nervously swishing wine around in his goblet, fire roaring in the hearth.

“I’m not certain,” Sam sighed. “I’ve heard of things like it before, of course; normally these kinds of episodes are an indication that the person is slipping into some kind of madness. But Lila has been fine since she rested. I’m not sure what to make of it.”

Jon grimaced, “So she’s going mad, then?” 

Sam shook his head, “I don’t believe so. I tried talking to her about the...warging, and it went quite well.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, I imagine it was likely bad timing on your part, when you chose to announce to her that she had magical powers,” Sam looked at him pointedly. “But I also think that the majority of the problem was...you.”

Jon blinked in disbelief, “What do you mean, me? What did I do?”

“I knew I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Sam muttered to himself, hands rubbing his face. He adjusted himself in his seat, leaned forward, and took on peculiar position, almost as if he were explaining the ways of the world to a child. A small part of Jon thought it was quite amusing. 

“When I first discovered Lila’s secret,” Sam began, “I made her an offer. I told her I would keep her secret, but that in return, she would have to study under Aemon and teach me what she knew about healing.”

“That seems rather odd.”

“Yes, it must seem that way to you. But you must understand, Jon...she has a natural ability for healing, even mixing potions. I’ve never seen anything like it, and though that might not be much to go on, Maester Aemon says the same. She not only has a breadth of knowledge, but she has a gift.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Jon replied. “How did you come to discover this gift?”

“It was when Pyp opened his smart bloody mouth and pissed off the wrong recruit. Got himself stabbed, remember?”

“Aye, I remember. He still hasn’t shut up about it.”

“I’m well aware,” Sam rolled his eyes. “Anyway, when that happened, it wasn’t me that fixed him up, nor was it Aemon. It was Lila. Who I thought was Morg, at the time.” 

“Right. So that’s how you found out about her abilities. But what does that have to do with me?” Jon was getting frustrated now. 

“If you’d let me speak more than a single sentence, I’d tell you,” Sam spat, exhaustion making him irritable. “When I offered her the exchange of keeping her secret for her knowledge, she accepted. But one of her conditions was that she never have to be around you.”

Jon’s heart sank. That was not what he had expected. Was he really becoming so callous and cruel that someone would ask specifically ask to be away from him? 

“I see,” was all he said in response. 

“She wouldn’t tell me why,” Sam said, sensing the change in Jon’s mood. “But in any case, that’s why I don’t think she’s going mad. I think the fact that you were there made it worse for her.”

Jon only nodded. It probably shouldn’t have, but it bothered him. 

In the beginning, he had exerted his power on the men, perhaps a bit excessively, because hadn’t wanted to seem like a pushover. He had wanted the Watch to take him seriously as Lord Commander, and so he had adjusted his behaviour and demeanour accordingly. But this was something different. 

A woman was afraid of him. The logical part of his brain told him that he hadn’t known Lila was a woman when he first met her, and because of that, he didn’t have anything to feel guilty about. Despite that knowledge, it bothered Jon to think of himself as being a menacing figure in a woman’s life. He had always hated the way Theon talked about women and had been taught by his father that an honourable man treats everyone, especially women, with respect. Just like with nearly everything else, Jon had failed at that, too. He wondered what his father would think of him now. 

“I don’t think it was just you, Jon, if that’s any consolation,” Sam said. 

“No?” Jon said apathetically. Sam had a way of always trying to make Jon feel better, but he wasn’t particularly in the mood for one of his friend’s motivational speeches. 

“No. I think that bear has something to do with it,” Sam said, unsure of the correct terminology. 

“What do you mean?” Jon asked, glancing over at the larger man. 

“I think that Lila’s connection with the bear is making it difficult for her to regulate her emotions. She’s never experienced it before; remember how hard it was for you to understand your ‘wolf-dreams’ when they first began? I think, all things considered, it makes perfect sense that she’s reactive.”

Jon thought about it for a moment: it was entirely plausible that Sam was right. It had been concerning and frightening when the wolf-dreams had begun. He thought he was going mad. He often woke feeling unsettled in the early days, when Ghost had just become a part of his life. It would make sense for it to be affecting Lila this way, but he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that there was more to it than that. 

“I suppose you could be right,” Jon said quietly, staring into the fire. 

“You’re not a bad person, Jon,” Sam said, cutting through the pretenses. “You didn’t do anything to her.” Jon looked sideways at his friend, internally cursing him for his uncanny perception. He let the conversation die, then, the only sounds coming from the crackling fire and the wind blowing onto the window. 

Jon broke the silence after a time, “What are we going to do with her, Sam?”

Sam looked at him in confusion, “What do you mean? She’s staying, isn’t she?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Jon said, avoiding Sam’s eyes. 

“Why not?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jon replied. “She’s miserable, she’s in danger, and quite frankly, she’s a liability.”

“She’s also an asset,” Sam responded evenly. 

“But do her skills really outweigh the risks?”

“I don’t understand what the risks are that you speak of,” Sam replied. “I mean, thus far, she hasn’t gotten in the way and the only person she’s hurt is herself.”

Jon sighed, “Yes, I’m aware of that, Sam. But this ‘development’ with the bear...I’m having a hard enough time as it is, winning the trust of the men and trying to make the Free Folk’s presence a normal part of daily life. It’s difficult to clear up the animosity when there’s a massive wild animal that’s like to snap at any moment that the wildings brought across the border. And the bear is snapping because of _her_.”

Sam said nothing for a few moments, the look on his face indicating that he was deciding what he should say. Jon knew he made a good point, but Sam clearly still wasn’t convinced. Jon could hear his rebuttal now: it wasn’t as if banishing Lila from the Wall would magically make the Free Folk and the men of the Watch become the best of friends. This mess with the snow bear wasn’t making it easier, but it also wasn’t the biggest obstacle. 

“I think that’s an excuse,” Sam replied cautiously. Even a year ago, Sam would never have dared speak to anyone that way, much less the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. But he had become so comfortable with Jon that it hardly mattered what he said anymore. 

“Excuse me?” Jon said, turning to look at Sam. 

“I’m sure you heard me, _my lord_. I don’t know what it is you’re avoiding, but that reasoning is an excuse if I’ve ever heard one.” 

Jon was flabbergasted at the accusation. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again, unable to think of anything to say. Damn Sam and his emotional intelligence.

“Is it that you’re embarrassed that you didn’t know she was a woman?” Sam asked.

“Of course not.”

“Are you sure?” Sam said, looking earnestly at his friend. There was obviously more going on in Jon’s mind than perhaps even he knew. 

“Yes, Sam, I'm quite positive.”

“Alright, if you’re sure, then. I will say, however, that the opinion of the men who dislike you doesn’t matter nearly as much as you think it does. You can’t be blamed for not uncovering her secret; no one else did, either.” With that, Sam rose, heading toward the door. 

“Where are you going?” Jon asked. 

“To check on our Snow Bear.” 

Sam left the room, leaving Jon with his thoughts, swirling his wine around in its cup.

**********************************************************************************************************************

###  **SAM**

She was in a half-sitting position when Sam arrived, looking forlornly out the window. 

“Hi,” Sam said as he entered the room. 

“Hi,” Lila replied softly, her voice quieter than even Aemon’s. She didn’t look at him as he approached the chair beside her bed. 

“How are you feeling?”

“I wish I’d never been born.”

Sam sighed, “Lila…”

“Don’t ‘Lila’ me, Sam,” she spat, her voice venomous despite the lingering fatigue. “You’d feel the same if you were a lowborn bastard who accidently killed a friend and then was sent away from home to live amongst hundreds of criminals and then you fell out of a tower window. Oh, and don’t forget that now you’re a warg - or a skinchanger, whatever it’s called - and you have no control over your abilities which makes you even more of an abomination than you were in the beginning.” 

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes; she certainly had a flare for the dramatic, though she’d be aghast if he said that out loud. Her emotions had been running high for the past couple of days, but Sam had been letting her vent. It was understandable that she was emotional, given the circumstances. 

“How are you feeling _physically_?” Sam continued, dodging the inevitable argument that would have ensued had he taken the bait. 

“Better, I guess,” Lila muttered. 

“Good. You’ll be back to your normal self in no time.”

“Yes, of course,” she mumbled sarcastically, so low that Sam wasn’t sure he heard her correctly. 

“Pardon?”

She rolled her eyes, turning her head to look at him, “I said ‘yes, of course,’ because you’re right, I’ll have my strength back soon, but I’ll never be ‘normal’ again. Ever.”

Sam sighed, thinking briefly that he’d been sighing a lot lately, before he said, “No, I guess it won’t be ‘normal.’ But you’ll be healthy again. And that’s important, right?” 

“I suppose.” 

“You’re being very stubborn.” 

“I’m just being my ‘normal self.’” 

If Lila had truly been a man, Sam would’ve called her a clever bastard, pun intended. She had reached a level of comfort with him that surpassed any friendship he’d ever had, let alone any relationship he’d had with anyone of the opposite sex. He’d never experienced this level of bluntness and sarcasm in conversations before Lila, and he was sure that she was the reason he had become so abrupt with Jon. 

“It’s not a death sentence, you know,” he said after a few moments. “It’s actually a very useful ability, being able to warg.” 

“How? Please, enlighten me.”

“Well, Jon uses it to keep in touch with his siblings, or at least to know whether they’re dead or alive.”

“Good thing I have so many siblings,” Lila replied sarcastically. 

“He gets information from Ghost. It helps him in battle and in ranging.”

“All of my non-existent siblings and I will be sure to thank you for the information next time I find myself battling an Other beyond the wall.” Lila rolled her eyes for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. 

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Lila,” Sam said, his frustration finally cracking his calm exterior. “I’m trying to help you and all you seem to want to do is mope and brood and altogether be a nuisance. I don’t know anything about warging, or skinchanging, or whatever in the seven hells you want to call it, I don’t know what it’s like to be a bastard, and I don’t know what it’s like to grow up poor. But I do know what it’s like to be different and quite frankly I’m sick of your ungrateful attitude. None of this can possibly be easy for you but it’s unfair of you to take it out on me.” Sam was quiet then, embarrassed and surprised at his outburst. Clearly Lila really was rubbing off on him; perhaps a little too much. 

“What am I supposed to do?” Lila whispered a few moments later, staring out the window once again. Sam glanced up to see tears rolling unencumbered down her face. 

“I’m sorry, Lila, I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

She turned to look at him, “Sam, please, answer the question. What’s going to happen to me?”

Sam’s heart twisted uncomfortably as she spoke, a sadness creeping into his chest. Lila had become one of the best friends he ever had, and it upset him to see her so distraught. 

“I don't know, Lil,” he replied. “But whatever happens, you’re going to be okay.” 

“Is he going to send me away?” she murmured. 

Sam’s breath caught in his throat as he said, “I’m not sure. He hasn’t decided yet.” 

She nodded, leaning back into the pillows as her eyes closed. 

“I think you should talk to Jon,” he blurted. He knew she wouldn’t take well to the idea, but there wasn’t much left to lose. 

She jerked her head up to stare at him, green eyes wide with surprise, “What? Why?”

“Because,” Sam said, leaning toward her. “He understands what you’re experiencing. And maybe if you speak with him he’ll be convinced to keep you here until the Mormonts come to get you.” 

She was quiet for a moment. Sam steeled himself, anticipating another outburst of anger. He didn’t understand her aversion to Jon, but knowing the reasoning was irrelevant; she had made it quite clear that she wanted nothing to do with the Lord Commander, and that Sam was never to question her about it. 

“Okay,” she replied. “I’ll talk to him. I don’t have much else to lose, right?”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Sam said, a small smile creeping across his face. “I think you’re making the right decision, Lil.” 

“I hope so,” she replied, reaching her hand out to take Sam’s. 

 

********************************************************************************************************************************************

###  **MAEGE**

It had been an interesting year for the Mormonts. 

She had bent the knee to the boy king, the King in the North, the Stark who looked a Tully, and so far, she had no regrets. The Mormonts had always been bannerman (bannerwomen?) to the Starks, and she had seen no reason to change that now. She thought that Eddard would be proud of his son, could he have seen the man young Robb had become. 

He was handling his new role quite well, though in the beginning he had nearly killed them all. He’d gone and fallen in love with his nurse, dishonouring her and nearly breaking his promise to marry a Frey. He had been set on his new path and intended to marry the Westerling girl, until one morning they’d woken to find the girl had disappeared into the night. 

Maege had privately been relieved at the girl’s departure; Walder Frey was unpredictable at the best of times, and there was no telling what he might do at the news of such an offense. Despite her relief, she and Dacey had joined the rest of the men in a search for the girl, which eventually became a search for the girl’s body, but it had all been in vain. She had yet to be found. 

Robb had been heartbroken, but decided that the honourable thing to do was to make good on his promise to the Freys. They had sent word to the Twins that the King would arrive and then choose his Queen in a few weeks time; they would begin marching on the morrow. 

Maege had intended to accompany the host to the Twins but her plans had abruptly changed when she’d received a frantic letter from Alysane, imploring her to come home at once. She hadn’t made clear the reason, for fear of interception of the ravens, but it was obvious to Maege that she needed to go home. She had left Dacey in charge of the Mormont men and had headed for a boat in Deepwood Motte. 

She’d gone home to a rather unwelcome mountain of letters from her disgraced nephew across the Narrow Sea, telling tales of dragons and births of fire, Dothraki weddings and the last Targaryen, and most interestingly, the sudden reappearance of Ser Barristan Selmy. Maege wasn’t sure if she should laugh or cry; she couldn’t trust a single word Jorah said, but she’d heard rumblings of such rumours from the east. Who knew what to believe?

He wrote of how he’d been exiled by young Daenerys, or so he would have Maege believe, and he made a case in one of the letters for why he needed to come home. Maege tossed the letter onto her desk, scoffing as if he were in the room with her; Jorah should know better. Not only could she not legally make that decision, but after what he’d done...even if she could bring him home, why in the heavens would she ever risk the Mormont name for a seller of slaves? She couldn’t, and she wouldn’t. It was an utterly ridiculous request. 

It wasn’t as if she had the time or resources to attend to her whiny nephew’s requests even if she’d cared to. Her people were starving to death. The war had made provisions scarce everywhere in the North, but it was particularly difficult on Bear Island. It had been Jorah who had gotten them into this squalor in the first place, with his bloody Hightower wife and her expensive tastes that Jorah was stupid enough to indulge. She had watched the Mormont name burned to ashes under the rule of her craven nephew, had had to stand by and watch as he destroyed what was left of the Island and made it nearly unsalvageable. It was horrible enough that Mormonts were nearly the poorest, if not the poorest, noble house in all of Westeros; the people had suffered a great deal more. 

It wasn’t even the poverty that had required her immediate attention, though it certainly wasn’t helping matters. Alysane had called her home because the gods damned Krakens had been making their way North more and more frequently in the months she’d been gone, raiding their small markets and stealing boats and fishing equipment. There had been several altercations, many deaths, and many losses. 

It had begun while Balon Greyjoy was sick, and had worsened when the bloody mummer died. The Iron Islands had never been a peaceful place, but now it seemed more deadly than a Dornish poisoned spear in a trial by combat. Maege knew it wouldn’t be long before the Krakens capitalized on the mainland’s war; soon, raids and looting would become an attempt at a siege of her island. She would not, and could not, let that happen. 

Everything was as tense as could be, constantly, for months on end. The only bright spot in Maege’s life was the knowledge that the King had defeated the Bolton pretender and had reclaimed Winterfell. She received a letter from Dacey with the good news and the even better news that Dacey was coming home. 

Two moons later, she saw the host approaching from an upstairs window, Mormont flags flying proudly above them. Maege was beside herself with glee; she was a tough old bird, of course, but she was also a mother, a mother who loved her children more than life itself. 

She rushed down to meet Dacey in the Great Hall, an excited smile plastered across her face. She was surprised to see Dacey alone, and not wearing any armor. As she opened her arms to embrace her daughter, she noticed why she wasn’t wearing her normal attire. 

Maege looked in shock at the small but noticeable swell of her daughter’s stomach. Her smile fell, replaced by a look of sheer and utter disbelief. Dacey, pregnant? She never thought she would see the day. 

“Dacey…” Maege said softly, reaching her hand out to touch her daughter’s growing belly. 

“Hello, Mother,” Dacey replied, placing her hand over her mother’s. She looked Maege in the eye, trying to gauge her reaction. 

“Who…?” Maege trailed off, the shock lingering. 

Dacey sighed before she replied, “Robb. Robb is the father.”

Maege felt as though she’d been pummeled. The wind had been knocked out of her. She stared wide eyed at her daughter, terrified for her and for the fate of the war. If Walder Frey discovered this…

“Does he know?” Maege said hurriedly, panic evident in her face. 

Dacey shook her head, “No, he doesn’t know. I hid it well and only let myself show once I was heading home.”

Maege breathed a sigh of relief, “Good. Good. I know it must be difficult for you, dear, but it’s for the best.”

Dacey nodded, “I know, it is. It was never a true love affair. Just two friends caught in the heat of the moment.” 

Maege looked at her questioningly, “And did you not think of Moon tea…?”

Dacey rolled her eyes at her mother, “Of course I did. But it happened on the way to the Twins. I didn’t have any while we marched, and I thought it best to avoid asking the Frey’s maester for moon tea. By the time we took Winterfell, it was too late. I was already with child.”

Maege sighed, an exhausted look crossing her features, “I understand. It will be difficult, my love, but you will persevere. You’re a Mormont; you are a warrior woman.”

Dacey smiled widely, “Don’t I know it. I’m actually looking forward to it now. Motherhood, I mean.”

“It will suit you,” Maege replied, smiling at her daughter. She continued cautiously, “You understand that he can never know? He does not know now, and it must stay that way.”

“Don’t worry, Mother,” Dacey said, her smile turning playful. “We Mormont women are skinchangers; my child was sired by a bear.” 

Maege beamed at her daughter, so proud of the wise young woman she had become. She prayed to the Old Gods that her newest grandchild was a girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! 
> 
> Dacey's line at the end refers to a conversation between Alysane and Asha Greyjoy in a released chapter from "Winds of Winter." Just wanted to clarify, in case anyone was confused by that! 
> 
> Also, I hope you enjoy Sam's nickname for Lila! I thought it was a sweet way to demonstrate how close they had become. Just to further clarify: NOTHING romantic happens between Sam and Lila. They are the best of friends, though Lila would be loathe to admit it, haha!
> 
> I'm enjoying writing this story so, so much, and I appreciate every read, subscription, and kudos more than I can describe. Thank you, thank you, thank you!


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